Nine Months
by Professional scatterbrain
Summary: AU Tristan returns to Chilton, and to the game, but Rory’s not playing. Dark Trory.
1. Back

**Title:** Nine Months

**Title:** Nine Months.

**Author:** Professional Scatterbrain

**Disclaimer:** All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libellous, defamatory, or in any way factual.

**Rating:** R

**Couple:** Rory Gilmore/Tristan DuGrey

**Summary:** Tristan returns to Chilton, and to the game, but Rory's not playing.

**Note:** Tristan left later on in Rory's first year at Chilton, so therefore the whole nine-month thing works (a little hint, it's a metaphor for the fic). After Tristan left Rory formed a fledgling friendship with Paris, Louise and Madeline, and by the time senior years rolls up there good friends, well, most of the time at least. Everything that happened with Dean and Jess happened except it happened all before senior year. At the end of the year before Rory told Jess she loved him, and he left suddenly straight afterwards.

I made Chilton darker, because I found the whole picture perfect school depicted on the show nice, yet unrealistic. I tried to model it around my High School, showing the competitiveness, the cruelty, and self delusion within my environment. I go to a girls' school though, so the guy thing still might take me a while to work out. Suggestions would be nice as this is my first GG fic.

* * *

**  
Chp 1: Back.**

* * *

Nine months.

That's how long he had been away.

That's how long it took him to get his life under control for the first time in well . . . ever. But definitions of control differed from person to person. He preferred to think he found some restraint.

Nine months until his parents forgot his sins and pulled him back into the world that had fucked him up in the first place.

Nine months until his parents got fed up with getting their public relations department to make up new reasons why he was sent to a 'boarding school'.

He doubted his 'loving' parents even looked at his reports, his awards, and the letters of congratulations the few impressed teachers sent home. He wasn't like his older brother or sister. He wasn't perfect like them, and that's why he was never noticed unless they couldn't turn a blind eye any longer. But that wasn't necessarily a bad thing, nor was it a good thing. It was his life, and by now he viewed the fact with a cool indifference.

It was the start of senior year. And he was back at Chilton. _'Why?'_ he asked himself. He should have been back at military school. He could control himself there. Well, in comparison. There were no temptations other than the obvious. Girls were always an easy option that allow himself to forget for a few moments. He had always used them, it was part of the game he played, and it didn't stop at Military School. It was the same in high society, as it was in army barracks; a game of power.

Military school was good. It was a break, and it was work at the same time. It was a new environment where money didn't buy success. He had to prove himself for the first time. It was a challenge, and he hated failure. Maybe that's why he did so well there.

The place had been filled with kids like him, trouble makers, kids that parents couldn't be bothered to deal with, guys that played with fire and got burnt, most of them poor little rich kids like him. Lots like Chilton actually, but without the option to get what he wanted without question. That made it more fun in the end. Harder. But then again, everything was a game in his life.

Tristan DuGrey still couldn't decide if Military School had changed him. Apart from the surface differences both schools had an aura of fakeness, an image of respectability yet under the surface there was a strong undercurrent of carelessness and inattentiveness that every student held deep within them. After the first few social event Tristan concluded that a change in himself had taken place. The rooms filled with fraudulent people, cold stilted conversation, self-serving wannabe politicians/business people, and haughty skin deep personalities made him feel as if he was suffocating. But it was his environment, conditioned by a life of decadents he knew nothing else.

It didn't matter, none of it did.

But it was the life he led.

He was naïve to believe it would change so easily.

* * *

Rory Gilmore tried not to keep looking out of the class room window. It was a perfect day. Light azure sky, bright white light that she loved, and air softly scented with fresh cut grass. Too beautiful to be stuck in school. How could she be expected to learn? From her left she heard Paris snicker, the blonde obviously caught her best friends gaze.

"Rory, Rory . . ." she chanted in her mock annoyed voice.

Through the past year the two girls had started a tentative friendship. After a while they passed the underlying competitive nature they both shared (well, for the most part). They were a great deal alike. Intelligent, witty, sarcastic, and obsessed with coffee. But Rory never let herself admit Paris was exactly the person she would have become if her mother married Christopher all those many years ago. Paris also pushed the same thought to the back of her mind, knowing envying Rory on her close relationship with her parents only made her see just how lonely she was with a mother and father that never talked to her or understood her.

"I'm listening." Rory replied, blushing a little at being caught out. Luckily the teacher hadn't noticed, but both Madeline and Louise had, and they made disappointed faces at Rory, making her laugh.

"Miss Gilmore, would you care to share what you think is so funny?" questioned the teacher, a look of disapproval shone through her shrew like eyes, making Rory shrink in her chair.

"Nothing . . . sorry Mrs. Jackson." She managed to mumble out, not looking forward to where this conversation was leading.

"If it's nothing maybe you should go to the coordinators just to clarify why you are disrupting my lesson." She said turning her back to the class.

Rory sighed to herself. Picking up her books, she glanced over at Paris and smiled a little when the blonde whispered, "I'll let you borrow my notes after class."

It was a small, yet significant gesture from Paris, a girl that prided herself on not asking or giving help. She believed that everybody had the ability to get whatever they wanted as long as they worked for it, and by allowing Rory to borrow her notes it showed a consideration of a girl that Paris had once considered an opponent.

Walking out of the classroom she overheard hushed laughter, and she inwardly cringed. She still wasn't used to this school. Though she had made a friend in Paris, Rory still knew she was unwelcomed in this school. She was not from money, old or new. Though her grandparents bank balance was one of the higher in school, few students knew that fact, while basically everyone knew about her mothers fall from grace, and used it against her when it suited there needs. It was a battleground in Chilton, and the world of social elite, and Rory felt like she was fighting a losing battle.

Paris, Madeline, Louise, and her Grandparents convinced her each weekend to attend parties and functions held by the wealthy families. She didn't like the way she fitted at these affairs. Like it was all too easy, as if she was contradicting her mother by not feeling the same way she did. It wasn't like Rory had a ball or anything, but it was natural, and it was becoming easy. And the worse thing was, she was getting used to it.

Sitting outside the coordinators' office she pulled out the mandatory book she carried with her as she noticed the office was empty. Yay, now she would miss all of her legal studies class just because the coordinators decided to go walkies on her. Sighing she sat down, leaning against the wall and began reading.

It would be a long wait.

* * *

Walking up the hall, flanked by talkative coordinators, Tristan felt like he was an animal on display in the Zoo. First day back in this hell hole and he was getting the grand tour by the puppet ringleaders. Only months before they were the same ones whom recommended Military School. And now they were patting themselves on the back, congratulating themselves on how smart they were. All they needed to swoon were some exemplary grades, a few swimming records and medals, and a couple of nice letters from teachers. Too easy. But then again his father could have just as easily bought his way back into Chilton. Lucky him, his son saved him a few thousand dollars. Tuning back into the conversation, Tristan saw they were outside a classroom.

"You'll be placed in Mrs. Jackson's Legal Studies class for the time being. Your father mentioned he hoped we might be able to place you in a business class or economics, but for the time being there are no free placements apart from Legal studies." Mr. Keys said fumbling with his paperwork before handing Tristan a timetable.

Tristan tried not to grimace when his heard the teacher's words. Yet again his father was controlling his life. But now wasn't the time to show weakness, now was the perfect time to piss off his parents, "Actually, I was thinking that Legal Studies would be much more beneficial to my education. Law is such a fascinating area of study."

The other teacher, Mr. Grunions didn't blink an eye, and replied, "Fantastic. We'll leave you here then Mr. DuGrey."

Nodding, Tristan watched them go. It was all so easy, he smirked. It would be worth enduring a year's worth of coma inducing boredom Legal Studies classes just to see his parents' reactions. The hated law, and it would kill them to know there son chose to do a class which focused on it. Maybe he should do a Law Degree and become a lawyer, which would kill them, Tristan thought with a smirk. Maybe this class wouldn't be that boring after all. Stepping into the classroom he was satisfied to hear the laughter, and talking cease. Just like old times, he though with a smirk.

* * *

Inside the stuffy coordinators office, Rory felt the overwhelming urge to get out of there as fast as she could, as soon as she could. She was sitting in a chair that was obviously made just that little bit lower that the one the teacher graced, to intimidate the juvenile delinquent. Lucky her. Struggling not to flee she listen to the coordinator drone on about 'Responsibilities', and how 'It was her last year and she should be buckling down instead of slacking off'.

"You do remember you are here on a scholarship Miss Gilmore?" Mr. Keys reminded her sharply.

"Yes sir." Rory replied, biting back the urge to remind him she was on a scholarship which evolved her paying 50 of the school fees, without the help of the 'generous' school.

"Your grades are high, but we both knew they could be higher. In Chilton, grades are what sets you apart from others," he continued on.

Rory didn't miss the underlying meaning of his words. She was only here because she acted an exam and wrote a killer essay. She was here based on a privilege, not a right. Rights were for the students that didn't need to do the essay or exam, they were for people that didn't question whether or not they'd be accepted, they just knew they were in. The ones that didn't need to ask their Grandparents to pay the school fees. Rory was a '_charity case_,' excepted only to prove to the critics that Chilton wasn't elitist, when in reality, it embodied the definition. Rory knew she had to work twice as hard to be considered half as good, but it was getting harder.

"Sorry sir, I won't make trouble again."

"I know in Stars Hollow High you can get away with behaviour like this, but not at Chilton."

She talked in class! Mr. Keys was making it sound like she got into a catfight with Paris over who had the better grade. They expected her to fail, and rejoiced at how clever they were to anticipate it when Rory made one wrong move. '_Was it mean to believe the worst of these people_?' Rory wondered. Some people, including a certain teacher her mother had got close and personal with had never judged her, or made her feel inferior. But others had. She was the girl that made the others look bad. She had been at this school for over two years, but still considered the 'underprivileged' student. As if she didn't understand what this world was about. Revolved around money, power, and control. And Rory had none of these qualities unless you count her Grandparents.

"We'll be writing about you to your mother you understand."

"I understand."

Like Lorelei would care! Probably be proud of her. Shaking up the institution. Rory couldn't help smiling a little, but covered it up quickly, knowing it wouldn't help her. Her mother was the only person who would find amusement in this situation. It reminded her of the time she had decided to steal Luke's mail cause he refused to give her any coffee. Unfortunately Taylor had seen that act of petty crime and reported them to the post office. How her mother had gotten them out of that fix was a wonder.

"I expect to see you put in more effort this year. And I don't want to hear about you making trouble again."

Rory nodded, and sighed, she had a feeling this would go on for a while. As the teacher droned on she felt her attention wonder, and after a while she totally lost interest in what the snotty teacher was going on about.

* * *

"Mr. DuGrey, welcome back to Chilton." Mrs. Jackson said without missing a beat. "There's a spare seat next to Miss Geller."

Waling over to the empty chair he sent a small smile to Paris. She was the only one who had continually written to him while he was away. In that time they had become friends. She had gotten over her crush, and Tristan could see she had matured considerably. Time had treated her well, she was still the same perfectionist, but now she had balance in her life, and other interest apart from getting into Harvard. He valued their friendship more than any in his life, and she felt like a little sister to him. She was one of the truest people he knew, and sometimes that was awful. There was no room for bullshit around her, and he thrived on it. But it wasn't a friendship that fitted into Chilton, it was one that was best away from the confines of the social hierarchy.

"So your back." She said, obviously not surprised, "Would have though you'd slack off for a few days before you graced Chilton with your presence's."

Tristan smirked, "Didn't you know how much I value my education?"

Paris snorted in disbelief.

"Mr. DuGrey, Miss Geller, no talking. I would remind you Miss Geller of your friend's fate when she talked in my class."

Tristan grinned when he saw Paris face twist into a death stare. "Sorry, I was just explain to Tristan about our project on Criminal Law."

Tristan had to give the blonde girl some credit, she knew how to work a teacher. He could just see the wheels clicking over in the older woman's mind. Should she attack or congratulate? Believe or disbelieve? In the end it was always better to leave the incident alone, and move on.

"Ahh, the term project, worth 15 of your final grade. Since everyone had already paired up last week, I'll have to place you in a group." Scanning down a class list her eyes lit up, "This is your lucky day Mr. DuGrey, until you arrived this class was an odd number, that means, you can work with . . . Rory Gilmore as she's working by herself."

Tristan knew Paris was looking at him. She knew the effect the shy brunette girl had over him. Paris had gotten past her jealousy of the new girl he knew, but Paris never really wrote about her. He realised now Paris did that not for her own sake but his. She knew that Tristan, on some level liked and respected the girl, but he would never admit that to himself.

"Would it be easier to work by myself? I don't think I'll achieve much if she's away today." Tristan tried, for some reason not wanting to be close to the girl that effected him so badly.

Maybe he didn't want to see her. Just in case the months they'd been apart had changed, just in case she'd become like the masses of people that inhabited the Chilton halls. If she'd lose her innocence's, if she'd become jaded, and fucked up. But at the same time he had to see her. For the past nine months he'd though about her more than he'd like to admit, she was perfect and sweet, witty and charming in a sarcastic way. And she had a control of him that he resented, knowing he had no effect what so ever on her.

"Miss Gilmore was sent to the coordinators. You can talk to her about the project at lunch."

Tristan sent a look of disbelief to Paris.

Maybe his Mary had change for the better.

* * *

It was lunchtime, and Rory had finally escape the coordinators' office with only one after school detention and a letter to her mother. Siting out of the expansive school lawn, Rory chatted idly with Paris while reading a book. Madeline and Louise were by the blonde's side, but Rory had never felt that comfortable around them. The four of them made up a weird friendship ground. The poor kid, the obsessive-compulsive, the slut, and the carefree one. Rory wondered how long it would last. Paris was the only one Rory considered a real friend, and she was the only one Rory had allowed into her world in Stars Hollow.

Lane and Paris had actually become friends. Lane's mother loved Paris. She symbolized a perfect child, religious, good grades, no visible boyfriend, and from a 'good' family. It was funny to see how the two would get on so well. Their conversation was quick and laced with barbs. It was obvious they were two of a kind.

"Rooooorrrryyyy . . ." Madeline laughed as Rory looked up from her book, "You coming this weekend. My house, party, lots of drunk guys for you to take advantage of now you've gotten over Jess and Dean."

Rory slightly flinched at the mention of Dean and Jess. She had messed everything up with them. She and Dean had broken up over Jess, then spent months getting back together and breaking up again. Rory couldn't think of him without remembering the pain that both of them had gone through. Jess, well he was another story. At the end of the pervious year, Rory had told him, that she loved him. He turned and left her standing alone. The next day he was gone. Rory didn't know where she went wrong with him. All summer she had asked herself what she could have done to make him leave. But then one day, she got up, and it didn't hurt as much. Each day had gotten better, and now Rory felt that she was over him. But it still hurt her. But Rory guessed that was just the way life was.

"Where else would I go?" Rory smiled, "Paris, Lane needs you to pick her up. Her mother is trying to make her go to Saturday evening Bible classes. Do your charming act and get her out of it please! Henry has been giving me puppy eyes all this week without his weekly dose of Lane time."

Paris gave her friend an bemused look, "Why do I feel like you use me to get Lane out of her parents clutches?"

"Cause I do?" Rory tried hopefully. "Please? You're the only one that can tame her!"

"Alright, and just so you know, I'm not doing this for you. Henry keeps bugging me after he found out I'm the reason he gets to see his girlfriend without a chaperon."

"How come that sounds so dirty coming from you Paris?" Louise asked cheekily.

Paris retorted by throwing a pen at the willowy blonde. "I have to go talk to my English teacher, I think he made a mistake when he marked my essay."

"Only gave you a high for grammar not a very high?" Madeline asked slyly.

"Yes . . ." Paris said exasperated, then she narrowed her hazel green eyes finally noticing the sarcasm in her friends' voice. "Low blow Maddie."

"Hey! You said you wouldn't call me that anymore!" Madeline whined following the blonde across the lawn and into the school.

"Maddie?" Rory questioned.

"Mad Madeline. Fifth grade party. Paris thought it'd be fun to go to a museum. Madeline thought it'd be funny to free the stuffed animals from the glass cases. Weird girl, even as a kid." Louise said referring to some childhood memory the three girls shared.

Rory suddenly felt out of place. She didn't have that past with them. She wasn't really part of that world. She was allowed accesses to it based on the good scores that had gotten her into Chilton and the money her Grandparents had. Friendship with Louise and Madeline was still something based on material matter. Paris's friendship was not bought, Rory reminded herself. And neither was Lane's. They were true, and real.

From the corner of her eyes she could see a group of guys waving. Louise noticed imminently. And the transformation that took place in the seventeen year old was fascinating to watch. From a relaxed, joking, intelligent girl, she changed into a seductive siren. Her skirt became just that little bit shorter, and showed off her golden skin, suddenly she looked like sex, when moments before she was acting herself, a young carefree schoolgirl.

"Why'd you do that?" Rory asked, as she examined the pretty blonde flutter her eyelashes towards her latest target.

"Do what?"

"They're not worth it. You always end up hurt." Rory said softly, remembering the times she had seen the composed girl nearly in tear each time the dropkick guy she was with used her.

"It's the game Rory, and I like to win." She replied, as if it was common knowledge.

"But you always lose even if you win. Every guy makes you feel like crap."

"It's not them, it's what they say."

"You're better than this Louise. If you stop acting and start being you -" Rory said, but Louise cut her off.

"It's a fun diversion Rory, I thought you knew that by now." She said before stalking over to the group of guys.

Her hips swung, and Rory could see the guys drooling. Unsettled by Louise's words, Rory refused to let them sink in. Returning to her book, she pushed aside all her worries for her misguided 'sort of' friend. Louise was a big girl, she could take care of herself. 'She just had bad taste in men' an inner voice reminded Rory, making her wish she had stopped the blonde from restarting the cycle again.

* * *

R&R

* * *


	2. Left

Title: Nine Months.  
  
Author: Professional Scatterbrain  
  
Rating: PG- 13 to R  
  
Couple: R/T  
  
Summary: Tristan returns to Chilton, and to the game, but Rory's not playing.  
  
Note: Tristan left later on in Rory's first year at Chilton, so therefore the whole nine-month thing works (a little hint, it's a metaphor for the fic). After Tristan left Rory formed a fledgling friendship with Paris, Louise and Madeline, and by the time senior years rolls up there good friends, well, most of the time at least. Everything that happened with Dean and Jess happened except it happened all before senior year. At the end of the year before Rory told Jess she loved him, and he left suddenly straight afterwards.  
  
I made Chilton darker, because I found the whole picture perfect school depicted on the show nice, yet unrealistic. I tried to model it around my High School, showing the competitiveness, the cruelty, and self delusion within my environment. I go to a girls school though, so the guy thing still might take me a while to work out. Suggestions would be nice as this is my first GG fic.  
  
***  
  
~ Chp 2 ~  
  
***  
  
From his position within his group of friends it was like nothing had changed. Following them out of the school buildings he watched a couple of the guys wave over a pretty blonde. As the girl glided up, Tristan instantly recognised her. It was Louise. He remembered dating her for a short period. A real wildcat in bed he remembered. Wouldn't have though a pretty thing like her would say those sorts of words, but surprises made life interesting. She was beautiful, with a Cheshire cat smile that at one time had made his knees weak. But not anymore, now all he could see in her was ice; she was emotionless and detached from the world around her.  
  
"Long time no see Tristan." Louise said silkily, her wide hazel eyes unashamedly giving him a once over.  
  
"Nice to see you remember me."  
  
"How could I forget?" she asked, giving him one of her meaningful looks. She was a vixen, and she knew it.  
  
The guys all roared with laughter, there was a reason they worshiped her. She was beautiful, uncomplicated, a perfect girl to bring home to the parents, and then fuck in there bed. They used her, and she used them. Both parties got what they wanted Tristan understood. Both got power, and as someone once said, though she was on her knees, she had them by the balls.  
  
"You seen Mary?" Tristan asked, being very careful not to arise any suspicion in either parties, knowing his friends would see it as a statement of him picking up where he left off in the challenge, and Louise knowing Rory was the next target in the game.  
  
"Why? Still want her?" she asked, her eyes laughing silently.  
  
Stepping closer to the beautiful girl, he whispered, "I prefer a girl with a little . . . experience, if you get my drift treasure."  
  
The guys laughed, but surprisingly Louise didn't. Her eyes remained wide and cat like, but her body stiffened, pulled back from him as if in repulsion. She looked at him for a second, and in that second he caught a flicker of the emotions behind her mask of pretty caramel eyes. Then it was gone, and she was back to being the girl he had slept with behind the rose garden at her families' estate.  
  
"She's off limits just so you know Bible boy." She announced frigidly.  
  
Tristan examined her. Bible boy was a nickname Rory coined. What exactly had happened while he'd been away? When had Louise defended Rory? Watching her refuse a cigarette from his cousin, Tristan waited for her to clarify what she had stated forth rightly. Then thinking better of it, he turned away, not showing how impatient he was for an explanation. Although Rory interested him, he wasn't in love with her, or in lust with her. At the most she intrigued him. He could wait for an answer.  
  
"Off limits? Are you hot for her Louise?" Matt DuGrey, Tristan's cousin asked. His tone was joking, yet it signified a challenge.  
  
"So she's stayed untouched in my absence?" Tristan asked brushing some of Louise blonde hair behind her ears.  
  
"What's it to you?" She retorted cocking her head to the side, making her golden locks fall over her shoulder and catch the light. It was her patterning move. Tristan couldn't help but being a little effected by it, and he knew he wasn't the only one.  
  
"Mary's still a Mary?" Tristan asked with a smirk.  
  
"Are you still a whore?" she retorted, answering a question with a question.  
  
The guys laughed, and Tristan had a feeling this was part of the game. Challenges, and bets were being made between the lines. Rory had always been unaffected by the guys at Chilton, especially him. Without her knowledge, she had kicked the sport up a notch. She was immune to good looks and popularity. She brought the game to a new level, which had not been previously encountered. She was changing the rules, and shifting the grounds of power, and the guys were yet to learn how to adapt. But then he left, just when he had a feeling he was gaining ground.  
  
"So no one," he asked, turning to his friends, "Has gotten to her?"  
  
"Ice Queen." Matt laughed, but all of them, even Louise saw the implications it his words.  
  
It meant Rory was the ulterment challenge. She was unimpressed by the very things which made seduction that much easier. She was still pure, and perfect. The guy that got her would be famous within the circles of the social elite. She was the one that would bring the most respect if bedded.  
  
"We're lucky if she talks to us." Giles Hamilton, great, great, grand son of the multi millionaire chemist who created some revolutionary sex drug.  
  
Louise laughed at this, "Rory thinks you're dropkicks."  
  
"Why does she think this?" Austin Richardson asked intrigued, his father was the CEO of an African Diamond company.  
  
Austin was old money just like Triston, Matt, and Louise. Giles was still new money, two decades more then it would be old money. Money was useful in making up the hierarchy of their society, but it was power that each of them craved. There was powering in there game, there was something addictive about having the power to hurt someone, to break someone.  
  
"Cause she's heard what you say about other girls." Louise continued, but inwardly she wanted to add, 'and how you treated me'.  
  
"You're her friend aren't you Louise?" Tristan asked, narrowing his clear sky blue eyes as he's mind started to work a hundred miles an hour.  
  
"That's why she's off limits." She said taking a cigarette from Giles. "Plus Paris will kill the guy that hurts her."  
  
"The two bitches are best friends now," Matt said blackly, earning a few laughs. His tone was cruelly humorous rather than crude, and his used his height to tower over Louise but she merely slid away to Giles' side. He was the only one she somewhat trusted. Somewhat being the key word in the description. He wouldn't shield her from them; he just wouldn't purposefully hurt her.  
  
"Watch your language around me gentlemen." Louise said wincing at the profanities.  
  
"That's not what you said in Argentina last year." Tristan retorted skimming his fingers across her arms.  
  
"Tristan." Warned Giles; he liked Louise, and was one of few guys that never fucked her. He kept his distance, yet always protected from the cruder comments.  
  
"I wasn't really concentrating on that if I remember correctly." She said not missing a beat. Louise was used to these digs, but still she wished some things would stay private. "Rory's a friend, which means she's mine. Simply stated, I don't like you acting like horny animals around her."  
  
"How'd you become friends with her?" Tristan asked, interested in how these two very different girls formed a friendship.  
  
"Paris." Louise said referring to the only other girl in the school that was not part of the game. "They were always being thrown together in classes, and newspaper stuff, then one day Chilton noticed that they no longer fought, but talked to each other. Sickening really."  
  
Paris, though beautiful, was always a little too intense. Frightened guys off. She didn't take any crap from anyone. She came from old money, and had business connections with Louise's family, both of whom ran very successful media empires. She was at the top of the bank balance game, yet she seemed so different from the other girls. Too grown up, too concerned by her need to be something. She didn't share the common attitude of 'old enough to know better, too young to care'. She dated rarely, but when she did, it was now with guys normally in university, studying some genius course that no guy from Chilton could hope to get into. Tristan always felt guilty the way guys at Chilton treated her, as if they'd only be interested in her if she was a bet or something. She was better than that, and only in the past few months was she realising it.  
  
James Parker, son of parents who owned the American branch of Porsha cars, nodded, "Scary seeing those two debating against each other in Legal studies. Even worse when they're both against you," he laughed, and the others joined in.  
  
Tristan grinned. Thinking about it, it wasn't really unexpected. Paris and Rory were a lot alike now he though about it. Each of them just different versions resulting in different circumstances. But then why did Rory have such a strong pull on him, where Paris only felt like a sister? Better not to know. Probably the reason would only show how fucked up his mind really was.  
  
"Shit, I forgot. Mrs. Jackson partnered me with Mary for the Criminal Law Project."  
  
He hadn't forgotten.  
  
"Lucky bastard." Brad Riley smirked. He was the youngest child and only son of the congressman of the same name.  
  
"No! She'll give you hell!" James said sharply, "I had to work with her last year, she wouldn't stop bugging me about little detail until the essay was handed in."  
  
"But you did get an A for it." Matt reminded him.  
  
"I better go and find Mary, if you're right she could be getting antsy." Tristan grinned evilly.  
  
"Rory didn't mention working with you. This means two things bible boy, she doesn't know yet, or she's holding back the urge to whine about it." Louise said twirling her hair, her eyes flashing in a predatorily way that left Brad speechless. It was then Louise decided he'd be her next challenge.  
  
"Well, I better go and find out which one sweet thing." Tristan flirted, causing his friends to snicker.  
  
Rolling her hazel eyes, she pointed over to the other side of the lawn. "Play nice." She ordered. "Just remember, you didn't get her last time, and your not likely to get her now."  
  
"She of little faith," Tristan said excusing himself from the group of guys, and started jogging over across the field.  
  
Rory was sitting quite some distance away, and was so absorbed in her book she hadn't noticed Tristan approaching. Tristan took advantage of this time, and examined her. She hadn't changed much. But it was enough to make his mouth dry. Her hair was longer, and fell in soft waves past her shoulder blades to the middle of her back. Her skirt was riding up her thighs just a little, and he couldn't help but react as he saw her long legs of porcelain skin. Her blazer was folded up, and put aside, leaving her in the cream school shirt which was rolled up to her elbows, and had the hem pulled out of her skirt. Her face had a look of utmost concentration as she scanned each page, and in one hand she played with a silver bookmark which glinted as it caught the light. She was ethereal, and angelic, pure, yet complicated, and untouched by the world of lies and money he lived in. He suddenly felt like he and his friends were trying to desecrate a priceless object for the purposes of entertainment. Suddenly he almost regretted what he wanted to do to her.  
  
Gathering his nerve he remembered how much she challenged him, and how much he wanted her. With those thoughts in his head he was able to form words.  
  
"Hey Mary,"  
  
***  
  
"Hey Mary,"  
  
Pausing for a moment she felt her heart skip a beat at the voice. It couldn't be . . .  
  
Looking up she saw the same sky blue eyes, ruffled blonde hair, and cheeky confident smirk. Flashing eyes, golden skin that would have taken a lesser girls breath away only made her stumble for thought for a second or two. Then she got her footing back, then she remembered who he was, and what he was.  
  
"Tristan?"  
  
"Don't act to happy to see me." He joked, sitting down next to her.  
  
"I though you were under lock and key?" she asked shutting her book knowing from experience he wasn't going anywhere soon.  
  
"Good behaviour bond got me out early."  
  
"How much did that cost daddy?" she retorted dryly.  
  
"Worth every penny."  
  
"I'll bet," she said sharply, letting him knew she was not amused.  
  
"Ohh, did my little Mary grow up while I was gone?" he smirked leaning closer to the brunette.  
  
His breath left her skin heated, and her flustered. She was more effected by him that she'd ever admit. All she would admit was that it was better to stay away from him. He was cruel, his eyes would charm her, but he would hurt her. He was too far-gone in bad habits to change for anyone. He didn't want to change, and as she looked at him she knew he hadn't in the time he spent incarcerated in Military School.  
  
"Is there a reason you're here. I mean apart from making up for lost insult time?" she questioned, seeing his gaze wonder along her legs she blushed, and hurriedly pulled her skirt down over her legs.  
  
"You're no fun," he whimpered.  
  
"Tristan." She warned, and he moved back a little.  
  
"Mrs. Jackson partnered my with you for the project."  
  
"What?" She cried, but seeing the look in the blonde's eyes she realised he was telling her the truth, but just cause he was, didn't mean she wanted to believe him, "No, I've already started, and researched it. You're not ridding my tailcoats to a good grade without doing any work."  
  
"What makes you think I'll slack off?" he asked, amused at her now flustered state.  
  
"Your don't look like you've changed at all from your jail term,"  
  
"You've been spending too much time with Paris," he commented hearing the Paris 'don't mess with me' tone in her voice.  
  
Rory sigh, realising she couldn't get out of this. "I'll lend you my work, just don't lose it or mess it up. The project is on legal killings, you know like during war and stuff, and we have to compare that to murder and manslaughter. It's pretty straight forward."  
  
"Thanks Rory," he said as she handed him a stack of papers.  
  
"Just don't lose it okay, that everything I've found." Her cobalt eyes regarded him seriously, before breaking away. She had stopped telling herself not to look at him in that way once he left, but now it looked like she'd have to start all over again.  
  
"Trust me Mary." He said smiling, then adding, "Heard you got sent to the coordinators. Finally someone caught onto your world domination plans?"  
  
"Goodbye Tristan." She said sharply walking away leaving Tristan with a smirk on his face.  
  
He could tell this was going to be a good year.  
  
***  
  
Rory couldn't stop watching the clock. Time was moving so slowly. Why did there always seem so much more time to endure when there was only fifteen minutes of class to go? Glancing back down at her Philosophy Essay she flinched looking at the red marks covering the page. A D+. A fucking D+. How do you get a D+ in Philosophy? Philosophy isn't a fact class! It's a personal opinion class, the best sort. And she got a D+ in it. What was so wrong with her opinion? She'd spent all week on the essay, but it still wasn't good enough. Flipping the essay over, she folded it into a folder, away from her sight.  
  
"What'd you get Ror?" Madeline asked from her seat beside Rory. Neither Paris or Louise took this class, and the two girls had formed a fragile classroom based friendship because of it.  
  
"I haven't looked yet," Rory lied, and not for the first time was she grateful Madeline didn't question her answer.  
  
"Sure you haven't Gilmore." Sniggered Giles disbelief showing on his flawless face, his gorgeous eyes flashing dangerously, "Just like I'm sure that lost little puppy dog look is based on your stellar A+ mark."  
  
"And I'm, sure you IQ is based on your intelligence not your bank balance." She retorted.  
  
"Shame you couldn't say the same thing about yourself," he retorted sharply, like a slap to the face.  
  
"What's that meant to mean?" Rory asked innocently, but neither Giles, or Madeline missed the razor like undercurrent to her comment.  
  
"Is it true your mother was cut of from the family inheritances after some one night stand got her pregnant?" James asked, his voice was even, but cruel.  
  
Rory felt her face flush, but she wouldn't let herself lose, even if she should have known better. "No, it was after she followed the Bangles around for a year,"  
  
Madeline laughed, but it didn't lighten the mood. But Madeline would laugh at anything, that's what made her so likeable in her own unique way. She didn't have Louise's sex appeal, or Paris's frightening presents, for god sake, she doted her I's with smiley faces, and her favourite colour was pink, cause she though it was a happy colour. What she did have was an infatuating glorious way of seeing her world.  
  
"Was that before or after she gave birth to her bastard child?" James asked, his eyes were laughing cruel, at her. He was putting her back in her place, and he was enjoying this.  
  
If someone were looking into the room they'd see an atmosphere of a productive classroom. Around them the teacher was writing on the whiteboard. The students were talking and joking. It was normally a relaxed class, one of the few you could let lose in. But as the side of the room, where the group of teenagers sat, the mood was dark, mean, and volatile.  
  
"Rory?" Madeline whispered, a worried look covering her face.  
  
Rory looked down to her books, she couldn't bring herself to meet their faces. Looking down at her hands, a glint of silver caught her eyes. Her new watch. Catier. New. Pretty. Expensive. A gift from Emily. It was only one minute to the bell. But she didn't absorb any of this information. Seconds had pasted since James had spoken.  
  
"No cutting insult Gilmore?" he mocked leaning her desk.  
  
Rory looked up, and for a second she hated him. He knew nothing about her, and she knew nothing about him, yet the emotions that cursed through her veins were so potent. Around her, everyone was packing up, and standing by the door, waiting for the bell to go. Every so often, a student would duck out into the hallway when the teacher's back was turned.  
  
Standing up, Rory gathered her books. Looking at James, she felt her body shaking with fury.  
  
"You fucking dickhead." She spat out.  
  
The bell sounded, announcing the end of the school day. But neither of the four students moved for a second, then Rory started to walk away.  
  
"At least I'm not a bastard."  
  
Rory stopped. Part of her mind was screaming at her to let it go. But the less sane part of her was in control. Turning she took in his malicious smirk, his dark uncaring eyes. His self-centered smirk. Walking back towards him she pulled out her thick philosophy textbook, and swung it into the air. He didn't even have time to react. With a solid thump, it impacted into James flawless face. Blood spurted out of his nose, and Rory was quite sure that she broke it. Giles rushed to his side, but Madeline stayed put, she was frozen to the spot, unable to do anything to stop the sequence of events that Rory had set off. Blood dripped on the floor, and Rory suddenly felt afraid. Everything was spinning dangerously out of control.  
  
"Bitch . . ." James spat.  
  
Suddenly, he hit her. He didn't hit her hard, he was too well trained by years of social etiquette, but it was enough to send to the ground. James and Giles stood over her, but as they advanced, Madeline pushed them aside. Wrapping her arms around her shaking friend, Madeline pulled Rory to her feet.  
  
"Go." Madeline commanded towards to two towering figures. "Now!" her voice was high pitched, and on the verge of panicking. But for some reason it worked, and the two men left. But not before giving Rory a scary smile that made her shiver, and hold onto Madeline to dear life.  
  
"Rory?" Madeline asked quietly. "It's okay now."  
  
To classroom was empty apart from them, and so was the hallway outside. How much time had past since the bell, neither of the girls knew for sure. But Rory was still shaking, and her face had gone a frighteningly pale colour. Her left shoulder was sending spasms of pain as the shock wore off from James's hit, and it was starting to swell.  
  
"Madeline," Rory choked out. Burring her head into her friends shoulder she held back sobs.  
  
"They're not normally like that Ror, please don't cry, please," Madeline whispered leading the upset girl out of the classroom and down the long halls of Chilton.  
  
"I'm alright," Rory managed to get out, but her voice was broken and quiet. Mechanically she packed her books into her back, and then relocked her locker. Looking down she realised she'd packed the wrong books. Swearing softly she repeated her actions, finding relief in the mundane task. She was still in shock, she still couldn't believe what had happened.  
  
"That stuff doesn't happen Rory, they just got angry. They're good guys most of the time." Madeline said taking her friend's bag out of her shaking hands. The wrong books were still in there, but Madeline didn't say anything.  
  
"I've missed my bus." Rory said mindlessly. Her head not quite thinking properly yet.  
  
"Rory, you have the jeep today." Madeline reminded, her chin length raven hair softly shimmering in the afternoon light.  
  
"Ohh," she replied, she looked like she was a million miles away.  
  
"I'm driving you home." The raven-haired girl ordered.  
  
"No, it's okay. I think I need some time to . . . cool off." Rory said leaving her friend standing in the middle of the Chilton hall alone.  
  
"Rory!" Madeline called, but the other girl didn't answer.  
  
Once again Madeline was left alone. Alone. This time it was one of her best friends that left her. She understood why Rory left though. The week before it had been her parents. They were going to France, 'the weather was better this time of year,' they told her when she'd asked why. She didn't understand they left though. So in the ever approaching darkness, the jet haired girl packed her bag and drove herself to a desolate home where she stayed only an hour until Louise called her about a party in Hartford. That was Madeline's life, sometimes she wondered what it felt like not to be left, but then again, she made it her purpose not to think about stuff like that. Dark stuff only made her upset, and a girl like her wasn't upset ever. A girl like her should always smile, and she couldn't do that by trying to understand why people always left her.  
  
***  
  
Thank you again to the wonderful Belle for helping with ideas and always encouraging me to keep writing. 


	3. Sacrifice

Title: Nine Months.  
  
Author: Professional Scatterbrain  
  
Rating: PG- 13 to R  
  
Couple: R/T  
  
Summary: Tristan returns to Chilton, and to the game, but Rory's not playing.  
  
Note: Tristan left later on in Rory's first year at Chilton, so therefore the whole nine-month thing works (a little hint, it's a metaphor for the fic). After Tristan left Rory formed a fledgling friendship with Paris, Louise and Madeline, and by the time senior years rolls up there good friends, well, most of the time at least. Everything that happened with Dean and Jess happened except it happened all before senior year. At the end of the year before Rory told Jess she loved him, and he left suddenly straight afterwards.  
  
I made Chilton darker, because I found the whole picture perfect school depicted on the show nice, yet unrealistic. I tried to model it around my High School, showing the competitiveness, the cruelty, and self delusion within my environment. I go to a girls school though, so the guy thing still might take me a while to work out. Suggestions would be nice as this is my first GG fic.  
  
***  
  
~ Chp 3 ~  
  
***  
  
The DuGrey house was elegant. It was grand and rose above the other mansions in the street to give birth to another tangible air of some unwritten ominous threat. It was some Victorian style Tristan guessed, and knowing his parents, it was probably designed by some notable person with a name that carried more power than talent. The estate had large sweeping grounds that were never used, and a garage filled with cars that were exchanged each time a new model was released. The place was like a showroom, only used to impress business partners, and intimidate rivals.  
  
"So Tristan, enjoy your first day at school?" Aiden DuGrey asked, as he watched his son enter the large, echoing entrance hall. The booming sound of the older mans voice seemed to linger coldly across the marble floors, and high ceilings.  
  
"Same as before," Tristan replied, his voice was even, and carefully pitched. Years of training dictated the way the two men interacted.  
  
This was the way he and his family communicated. But they barely did. As a child he never noticed it, but he did now. The uncomfortable silence. They didn't talk, they just spoke to each other. No words ever meant anything really, it was all just filler. Stale conversations would perpetrate the air while they where in each other's presents, and until they could slip away each breath was uncomfortable as if in a bell jar.  
  
"Did you get placed in the correct classes?" Aiden asked leading the conversation this time. Usually it was Tristan who played that role, but unlike his father, who obviously had a purpose, Tristan did only when the quiet became too much.  
  
"Yes,"  
  
Tristan let a small smile show, a glint of teeth, flash of conceit. He was like the cat that ate the canary, and Tristan rivaled in the power he held within his secret. It was petty, but he was a petty person he reasoned when once again he felt the need to get some attention. It was now so easy to play his parents, and Tristan wondered why he bothered, it wasn't like they meant anything to him. That was there fault, not his, and Tristan didn't plan on forgetting that anytime soon.  
  
"Excellent, I was worried you'd be such with the original inadequate classes you were placed in." he said looking through the large pile of letters that one of the maids had left on the sideboard.  
  
Not liking the vapid state of the conversation, which was currently focused on him, Tristan turned it around, and asked Aiden about his favourite topic, himself. "How's the business going?"  
  
Smiling his charming smile that matched the one his son had gracing his face, Aiden replied, "Our insurance is getting too high, so I've started talks with GRN Insurance. Your Grandfather is good friends with the CEO of the company, Richard Gilmore, so it all should go well."  
  
Tristan's smile slipped for a moment as he heard the name Gilmore.  
  
"Richard's granddaughter goes to Chilton if I recall. You might know her," he said casually.  
  
But Tristan knew what his father really meant. Befriend the girl, make her love you, make her family love you, just for security sake, just in case the deal wasn't as smooth as it sounded on paper. His fathers past words played out in his mind like some fucked up pantomime, 'do it for the family, do it for the DuGrey name, it's all worth it in the end, trust my word,' and Tristan felt suddenly too old for that shit.  
  
"Apparently she's quite intelligent. Richard's very proud of her, spends most of his time boasting about her." he said, plainly leading somewhere.  
  
"Don't see what this has to do with me." Tristan's voice had an edge.  
  
"Nothing Tris," the older man shrugged, his tailored suit falling perfectly over his athletic frame. Returning his attention to the mail, he changed topics without a pause. "Your mother will be home soon. She wants to know if you're coming to the charity dinner. Some fund raiser she organised."  
  
"When?" Tristan asked, the same detached tone back in his voice.  
  
It wasn't like any of this mattered to him. He had gotten past the point of trying to avoid those sorts of gatherings. Now he just went, and played that part that was chosen for him.  
  
"Next Friday. Most of your school friends will be present I believe."  
  
"Good." Tristan answered, not really caring either way.  
  
"Your brother should be coming, and Annabelle."  
  
Daniel DuGrey. The oldest, the smartest, and the unofficial heir to the family empire. Daniel was more then ten years older than Tristan. They rarely saw each other, and when they did, it was only through events like these. His trophy wife Annabelle was a pretty thing. Only a year or two older then Tristan, not that Daniel minded. An ex Fijian model, with dark caramel skin, amber eyes, long shapely limbs. Daniel had met her on one of his many pointless business trips. She was apparently related to some political leader, a prized niece, and Daniel had fallen for her the moment he saw her. The rest was a long boring story leading to this point.  
  
"Shall Elspeth be coming as well?" Tristan said referring to his other sibling.  
  
Tristan had hated Elspeth for most of his life. He had never hated Daniel, just strongly disliked the clueless brother. But Elspeth, she had appeared so effortlessly perfect to him. She was respected without any bloodshed for power, and throughout high school and the rest of her life leading to this point she was always the ruler of the game, never having to act the part. She was just too bloody perfect for him to stand being around.  
  
Then somewhere along the line, his perception of her shifted. It didn't happen after the perfect grades arrived home each semester, or during the intermission of when the handsome suitors that came in and out of her life like disposable play things. Nor did he feel any sympathy for her after the spectacular break down of her one real relationship, or after the many times Daniel was promoted instead of her. He didn't feel thankfulness for the times she and she alone, from his family came and visited him in Military School, and came back again even after he told her to fuck off. But somewhere amongst the mess that was his life, she stopped being the perfect older sibling he hated more than his parents and grandparents combined, and started being someone that he liked. Someone that he considered family.  
  
"No, she's in Egypt this month, then she's going to Africa I believe. I wouldn't expect her back in America for several months." Aiden said, continuing the conversation in that inattentively tone Tristan had picked up somewhere along the line.  
  
Aiden's favourite had always been Daniel, resulting in Elspeth being forgotten in his eyes. No matter how brilliant, or how many deals she made, or millions she saved for the company she was just a girl compared to Daniel. Another view Aiden had inherited from Janlan.  
  
"She said she might be coming home for Christmas." Tristan stated looking away as if bored.  
  
"That would be nice. Frances has been worrying about her. She wants me to transfer Elspeth to a desk job,"  
  
Elspeth was the only girl in the family, and had the misfortune of being have a socially useless form of intelligence that was abstract, and often- left people confused when she exhibited it. She had a time bomb sort of image with suitors, and none of them lasted to long, this of course worried Tristan's mother Frances. Frances wanted her only daughter to be married, and had forever sent wealthy, powerful men her way.  
  
"She's quit if you do. Hamilton industries is after her. They think she could kick start their Eastern European take over of the government medical program." Tristan stated as he flipped through his mail.  
  
Elspeth wasn't the unofficial heir to the family business, but she played a major part in it. Even Daniel knew she could easily take the reins of the cooperation, or any other company if she chose to. But she didn't. Elspeth preferred . . . well Tristan didn't know what she wanted, and he'd guess she didn't either. She was extremely valued, and Tristan knew if she was born a male Jaylen DuGrey would have handed over the empire to her instead of Daniel leaving her no room to debate the decision. But of course the old bastard hated detested women, so Elspeth was left working on accounts when she should have been running the company years ago.  
  
Aiden looked up, a proud grin was on his face at the mention of his youngest child talking about the Business world. "How'd you know about Rupert Hamilton head hunting our little Elspeth?" he said referring to Giles Hamilton's father Rupert.  
  
"Elspeth likes to keep in touch."  
  
"Ah, that's my girl." He said showing some semblance of pride towards his only daughter for some unknowing reason. Looking down at his watch he groaned when he saw the time. The conversation was over. Time was money, and Tristan came second in that debate. "I'll let you get back to your homework."  
  
"Yes father." Tristan commented, as he listen to the older mans footsteps as he walked further and further away.  
  
The house seemed colder now, larger and more unwelcoming. Occasionally a maid or butler would scatter past him, smiling a fake smile, giving out a cellophane greeting. Most of them were new, and must have been hired in his absents. Tristan idly wondered how long each of them would last. His mother was very picky, and she controlled her house much like the army sergeants controlled him at Military School.  
  
Finding his way past the many unused, but expensively furnished rooms; the formal dinning room, the drawing rooms, the sun rooms, the expansive new library, the showing ball room, and his fathers study, Tristan made his way to his room. It was at the back of the house, the original library converted into a bedroom. He was an unplanned child, and his room had not originally fitted the description of a child. But he had grown into it. High ceilings, polished marble floors, with a elegant diamond pattern. Two walls still retained the original floor to ceiling bookshelves but Tristan liked them. His room was the only place in the house he felt somewhat relaxed.  
  
"Mr. DuGrey," A nameless maid called after a few hours, knocking on the door. "Your mother has just called, your parents will be unable to had dinner with you tonight,"  
  
"Thank you." Tristan's face was devoid of emotions, and the maid quickly left his sight after he spoke.  
  
Turning to the window he looked out to see the grand garden greet his view. Extensive grounds, all beautifully tended, and restored was a pinnacle feature of the Victoria house his parents had bought all those years ago when they had married. Aiden and Frances Dugrey, the beautiful couple that had there wedding pictures in every vogue colume around the world of society.  
  
As his eyes trailed over the newly landscaped entertaining area, the Olympic sized swimming pool caught his attention, and Tristan had the urge to forget everything and go for a swim. It helped him think, from a young age he had excelled in the sport. In Military school he was in the senior squad, and competed with the school team. Now back at Chilton he had been placed in their school team, but for some reason he was wary about it. It was better for him to stay out of that, but his parents liked the recognition of having a son that broke records and won medals. For now, it would do, he could put up with it.  
  
Signing he pulled out his homework. He didn't have much, and he finished it quickly. Pulling out the thick folder of notes Rory had lent him early that day, Tristan was assaulted by a feeling of lust for some reason. Flipping through the intricate, and obviously coded in some form of speed writing, Tristan breathed in the remnants of her soft, old fashioned rose and gardenia perfume. It was light and airy, and fleeting just like she was. He couldn't understand half of what she'd written, but after a while he caught on to her unique code. It was boring project, and by the way Rory had researched the topic it was obvious she was aiming for the highest-grade possible. Not much had changed with her obviously.  
  
He thought back to their meeting at school. She looked a little more relaxed, maybe that from making friends with Paris, Madeline, and Louise. The months they had been apart hadn't really changed her, and he was somewhat glad. He didn't know what to feel when he was with her. She got to him, and he hated it. Sometimes he wanted her more than anything, but most of the time she was just a challenge. It confused him the way his feelings rebounded from one polar to the other. Rory wasn't meant to mean anything to him, she was meant to be a conquest. She was the untouchable one, the one that brought the game to this entire new level, and he was meant to win, no matter what. He wanted her in the lowest ways possible, yet when he was with her, he felt true, and he detested how he felt when he realised this mistake in judgment.  
  
Picking up his mobile he dialed her number. Got it from Louise, when she wasn't looking of course. Shit. The blonde vixen was a guard dog when it came to Rory for some reason. What was it with people protecting Gilmore? She had everyone wrapped around her little finger, and she acted so righteous and perfect. She believed in love, but Tristan, like many others who witnessed the Dean stunt at the end of school term all those months ago saw the slightly malicious, and manipulating undercurrent of Dean's actions. Listening to the phone ring, Tristan waited for someone to answer.  
  
"Joe's taxidermy's you snuff em, we stuff em," came the peppy voice of the elder Gilmore.  
  
"Hi, I was wondering if I could speak to Rory?" he questioned, a little off balance from the unique greeting he had received.  
  
"Sorry, she's not home yet. You can leave a message in hopes that I remember to give it to her."  
  
Something about Lorelei's tone irritated Tristan. Maybe it was the obvious trust she had for her daughter. Unquestionable believing the best about her. Should all parents think that? No, he didn't see any proof of that around his friendship circles. Lorelei was naïve like Rory, only in a different way that left Tristan wanting to laugh in her face or cry because it was all so unfamiliar to him. Did Rory deserve such trust? She was just a teenager, she wasn't perfect like her mother so clearly believed without any doubt.  
  
Tristan remembered Rory's sixteenth birthday party at her Grandparents. She seemed so utterly out of her depth. So perfect in the Gilmore's opinion, and then so faulted in their eyes when she, for the only time he could recall, voiced what she really wanted. She had her own double standards he realised with a start, then pushed the epiphany to the side. He couldn't think like that if he was to get her in the ways he wanted, to him she had to stay another girl he wanted, not a girl he understood in any way.  
  
"No, it's okay, I'll see her at school."  
  
The word 'school' seemed to spark something in Lorelei's mind, and with a remnant of the manners she would have been forced to learn she asked, "Whom may I ask, am I speaking to?"  
  
"Tristan DuGrey." He answered hesitantly, sensing an edge to the carefully pitched voice on the other end of the line.  
  
"Ah . . ." she replied knowingly, "I'll tell Rory you called."  
  
As the dial tone greeted Tristan's ears, he wondered what Lorelei so knowingly knew about him. Rory must have told her about him; a thought that was quite disconcerting. The older Gilmore girl was from his world, although she had moved on, she still know what the life was like. Tristan knew she'd want to protect Rory from it and most unluckily for Tristan, Lorelei would probable want to protect her daughter from him.  
  
But the interesting thing about that short, and rather abrupt conversation was that Rory wasn't home. In fact, if Tristan recalled correctly, she hadn't returned home at all. Not straight after school like he expected she would. Like the good little girl she is, Tristan assumed his Mary would run home to mummy and Stars Hollow the moment the bell rung at Chilton. But not tonight. Tonight she hadn't gone home the moment she could. But what really intrigued Tristan was that she'd hadn't followed the pattern he had imagined for her, that was an expected hurdle. He just wondered where she was.  
  
***  
  
The long weedy grass reached her shoulder, and if she were standing, it probable would have gone past her knees. Hugging her knees to her chest Rory sobbed soundlessly. It was like a weight being lifted off her shoulder. She refused to let anyone see her cry ever. If they knew or saw, well, they'd see she wasn't as strong as they thought. She had to act strong, because it was her that had to keep everything together. If she broke, everyone else would break as well. Everything would come crashing down around her, and that could never happen, never, if it did she'd be left with nothing, and that felt like death to her.  
  
Her long hair whipped around her face, dancing in wind. Looking up, she stared at the old, abandoned house. It was falling down, dark, desolate, and sinister. The red bricks had long ago been tainted with moss, and mold. Parts of the roof had fallen in, and the wooden floors had rotted away. Rory never when inside though, she preferred to stay outside. The house was the only thing about this place Rory hated.  
  
This place.  
  
Her place.  
  
The place Rory when to when the world got that little to hard to bare, and things got to sad for her to take.  
  
She found it on when she was driving aimlessly. Two hours, and sixteen and a half minutes from Chilton exactly. It was out in the countryside, with so much space between the end of the property line Rory was sure no one would ever find her. She could only afford to come out here once or twice a month, but it was enough to keep her sane. She couldn't let anyone find out about her, and the only place in the world that she had to herself.  
  
Rotating her shoulder, she hissed as she felt bolts of pain shooting through her body. Pulling her blazer off her shoulders she bit her lip to stop crying out. People managed to hurt her far too easily, she managed to process. Shock had worn off, and she was starting to feel the effects of the incident. Unbuttoning her school shirt, she pulled it away from her shoulder, and look to inspect the damage.  
  
"Shit . . ." she mumbled.  
  
Rory bruised easily. This fact she had known all her life, and as result of her clumsiness she was always sporting a bruised mark or cut. But this . . . Well she couldn't hide this with a Band-Aid, or cover up. Her entire left shoulder and an upper arm was coloured black blue. She could tell by tomorrow it'd be even worse than it was now. Shivering as the air turned cold she refused to leave the calm safety of her place.  
  
Carefully pulling her clothes back on, Rory left the flat ground near the car, and started towards the back of the property. It was there, under the tall lush leafy trees, over grown ivy, a few sparely growing wild flowers, leaving Rory feeling like she was in another world. It was gentler there, and it showed remnants of the last garden friendly owner. None of the plants were natives, Rory had learnt after reading some boring books, and it was surprising that they flourished. It just added to the feelings of security she felt, it made her feel like she was untouchable here, just for a few moments she didn't have to think about anything, she could just be.  
  
Darkness was falling, and the sensible part of her mind told her Lorelei would be getting worried, and even though her mother put up with her monthly disappearances she would not be happy with her only daughter not returning home until the early hours of the morning.  
  
Her mother was so proud that her daughter got into Chilton. Rory could never tell her what really when on there. Rory wouldn't let her mother know how hard it was, or how much she wanted to go back to Stars Hollow High. She missed the easy, carefree nature of that place, they way it didn't matter if she had no friends, the way no one paid her attention or mocked her . . . or hurt her. In reality Rory knew she was remembering her old High School with rose coloured glasses. She all too easily remembered how people passed a subject merely by turning up for a majority of class. Or how she was called frigid behind her back. Was Chilton that much better? Sure the classes kept her interested most of the time, but the people, the society it fostered that was what she couldn't manage. But Chilton would get her to Harvard, and that would set her up for life.  
  
Sacrifice.  
  
That's what it all came down to. Dean gave her up to find someone that wouldn't hurt him. Jess ran so he wouldn't have to deal with her. Which hurt worse Rory could decided, maybe it was seeing Dean smiling at Lindsey, or maybe it was not seeing Jess, and knowing he didn't want to see her. She wished she'd just kept her feelings to herself, she'd rather have a friendship than nothing. She missed both of them, yet at the same time couldn't imagine them back in her life, as if nothing had happened.  
  
"I have to move forward . . ." Rory mumbled coming to an epiphany of sorts.  
  
A weight lifted of her shoulders, she felt free of her lust, her want, and her need, of the two men that had made her feel so much hurt. She also felt free of some of the guilt that she held in reference to her treatment to them. It wasn't over, Rory knew that, and she understood that she might feel free of her feelings at this moment, but she wasn't past that stage of her life.  
  
Picking herself up, she let out a hiss of pain as her shoulder twisted painfully.  
  
That was a bigger problem at the moment.  
  
Getting her mind back into order, Rory tried to form some sort of rational plan. All she knew for sure, was that Lorelei could never know, and neither could anyone else. Slowly she ambled back to the car, and eased her way into the drivers' seat. Starting the car she looked into the mirror was the reflection staring back at her looked so surreal, and strangely spooky Rory had to force herself not to look away. Her eyes were red, and her cheeks were tear stained. Her skin was pale and sickly, making her look tired, old and frail. She wanted to be a child again, she wanted to feel free again. But that was impossible, and the only thing she felt like was a caged animal.  
  
It was a bad day. She knew this as she started the engine and stalled the jeep once or twice. Rory just hoped tomorrow would be better, she needed it to be.  
  
***  
  
Tristan stalked through the halls of Chilton. He would have been late to class, but there was an assembly going on so he was safe. Turning the corner, he happened to glance into the coordinators' office, and as he did, he was shocked to see the slight form of Rory Gilmore. Fiddling with the beautiful watch on her right wrist it glinted and caught the light.  
  
He couldn't hear what was going on, but he saw her flinching as a sheet of paper was put in front of her. Red marks were all over it, and Tristan could tell it wasn't good news. As she stuffed the offending object into her bag Tristan had the sense to move, knowing she wouldn't be happy to find him watching her. Storming out of the room, Rory looked too dangerous and unstable for a second, but within an instant she had covered it with a sweet, bored look that she must had learnt from Louise.  
  
Something was wrong.  
  
Really wrong with her.  
  
***  
  
Today wasn't a better day. She'd had a couple of them over the weekend. Locked up in a house watching reruns of crappy movies she felt like she was stuck, and if she didn't do something quickly that's all her life would add up too. Her mother with her bright smiles and affectionate actions only make her feel worse. How could she hurt her mother by feeling this? Lorelei gave up everything to give her something that she as a child never had. Rory was meant to love her life, the town, the way she lived. Why couldn't she anymore? What was wrong with her?  
  
Sitting in the English classroom, Rory could feel her friends' eyes on her, watching her. Fury was running through her veins, she couldn't control it, and she was scared by the intensity. When she was called to the coordinators' office she hadn't known what to think. Part of her knew that James and Giles would be too proud to tell anyone about her breaking James's nose, but another part of her knew they wanted to show Rory her place in this society.  
  
She was on academic suspension in Philosophy instead, that's what had happened. Apparently the last D had taken her below the grade point average that was stipulated she maintained in each class in order to keep her scholarship. She was given another lector about how she had to work hard and live up to Chilton's expectations. She felt numb as the coordinators when on and on about how she had to work hard and keep up with the other more advance students. They knew nothing about her, they saw only numbers and words from files when they looked at her, why should she care what they said. But Rory did, it was weak and showed her dependence on some form of acceptances from Chilton, and she hated herself for it.  
  
As time ticked past her, she sat mindlessly copying down notes, and listening to Paris recite another essay form answer on the text she felt detached and out of her mind watching as if she was a bystander. Rory normally loved English, she had the best teacher in the Humanities department, and everyone in the class knew it as well. But today she couldn't think, or concentrate on the discussion of Cabaret. All she could think about was how much she wanted to disappear.  
  
As the bell sounded, Rory mechanically packed her books away, shuffling the loose papers neatly into her folder, she walked out of the room. In an instant she was flanked by Madeline, Paris, and Louise.  
  
"Bathroom. Now." Paris hissed, dragging Rory with a death grip into the nearest restroom.  
  
Curtly Louise forced all the other girls apart from her three friends out of the bathroom, and pulling out a heavy set of keys she locked the door from the inside. For a second Rory wondered where Louise got the set school keys, but knowing Louise, and all her 'flings' it could be anyone.  
  
"Madeline told us." Paris stated.  
  
Shooting the jet haired girl a death glare, Rory snapped, "It's nothing."  
  
"Sorry Ror," Madeline said apologetically. "I had to tell them."  
  
"Show us the damage." Louise said advancing on Rory.  
  
"I told you it's nothing,"  
  
"If it's nothing, then show us." Louise ordered, then more gently she tried again, "You've seen me at my worst Rory, I let you see me at my worst. Let us help you. I'm guessing you haven't told anyone about what happened, and you weren't going to tell us either. That's okay Ror, but that's not how it works with friends." Louise recited, her voice telling Rory to trust her even though her words seemed to scream the opposite.  
  
"I didn't ask you to be my friend. I'm fine by myself." Rory said harshly, but everyone in the room knew she was lying.  
  
"You're not fine Rory. I would have thought you'd be the exact opposite of fine at this present moment." Paris said quietly.  
  
"I'll be okay, I bruise easily, it's nothing. Trust me."  
  
The three teenage girls stared down at Rory, there eyes each pleading different things to her, emotions that she didn't was to read or even see directed at her. When had she become so helpless, when had it stopped just being her and started being a friendship group? Signing to herself, Rory very reluctantly gave in. She knew Paris could be like dog with a bone when she wanted to know something and the other two could be just as worse.  
  
"Promise you won't tell anyone."  
  
"Promise." Paris snapped impatiently, speaking for the other two girls who waited along side her.  
  
Wincing, Rory pulled her slightly ill fitting blazer off her shoulders, and unbuttoned the crisp white school shirt. The pure white seemed to contrast like positive and negative, clashing with the dark bruising on her pale skin. It struck a discord between the image that her friends had always perceived and the person she really was, Louise was the first to recover.  
  
"Shit . . ." the blonde whispered dangerously. "James and Giles did this?"  
  
"I'm going to kill them . . ." Paris spat out.  
  
"No!" Rory yelled as the blonde moved towards the exist. "No, no one can know. If Lorelei finds out she'll pull me out of Chilton, and bring legal charges up against them, and then I'll spend all of this year stuck in a school where must of the people are drop kicks, and in court watching two dickheads get praised as model citizens and get out of all trouble. Then as I go through some second rate college cause I won't get into Harvard, I'll be know at the girl who cried wolf and then when I starting writing I'll be known as-"  
  
"Breath Ror, breath." Paris said in a concerned voice, "We won't say anything for now, but if anything else happens . . ."  
  
"Nothing will." Rory stated defiantly.  
  
***  
  
A huge thank you for Belle for being my beta, a talented writer and a patient person who managed to read this fic with spelling mistakes and all.  
  
*** 


	4. Roles we play

Title: Nine Months.  
  
Author: Professional Scatterbrain  
  
Rating: PG- 13 to R  
  
Couple: R/T  
  
Summary: Tristan returns to Chilton, and to the game, but Rory's not playing.  
  
Note: Tristan left later on in Rory's first year at Chilton, so therefore the whole nine-month thing works (a little hint, it's a metaphor for the fic). After Tristan left Rory formed a fledgling friendship with Paris, Louise and Madeline, and by the time senior years rolls up there good friends, well, most of the time at least. Everything that happened with Dean and Jess happened except it happened all before senior year. At the end of the year before Rory told Jess she loved him, and he left suddenly straight afterwards.  
  
I made Chilton darker, because I found the whole picture perfect school depicted on the show nice, yet unrealistic. I tried to model it around my High School, showing the competitiveness, the cruelty, and self delusion within my environment. I go to a girls school though, so the guy thing still might take me a while to work out. Suggestions would be nice as this is my first GG fic.  
  
***  
  
~ Chp 4 ~  
  
***  
  
Tristan sat with his friends in the school parking lot. Lighting up a cigarette, he watched James flirt with some random pretty girl. She wasn't a Mary, that fact was for certain. Not many girls in this environment were. With a jump, his thoughts centered on a particular Mary that made his heart lurch. He remembered the way she blushed so easily, and how her long, slippery hair formed a curtain around her face when she tried to hide her embarrassment.  
  
A flash of carefully dyed and highlighted brown hair caught Tristan's eye. Summer. Time hadn't harmed her at all. She was still model gorgeous and obviously knew it. As she comfortable settled into his group he felt a flash of anger at her. She had done what no other girl had done. She had humiliated him, cheated on him, and done it in public. She had done it on purpose; cold and calculating, Summer played the same game as everyone else in Chilton, but unlike everyone else she dared to double cross him. Tristan was the best, and knew exactly how to get what he wanted. It was all about power, and she had taken it from him that night. He planned on taking it back, and showing her exactly where her place in this society was.  
  
"Hey Tristan, heard you got back from boot camp in one piece," came Summer's voice, and in her tone was a certain satisfaction in the knowledge she had power over him.  
  
"Miss me?"  
  
The banter was light, but the atmosphere was unsettling. Summer should have known better than to come and try to act she was a level beyond Tristan. The power was shifting, but not one of the people watching could figure out which was the balance was tipping.  
  
"You haven't changed." She commented.  
  
"Maybe so." He replied noncommittally, it wasn't like she had known him before.  
  
"I heard you're still after Mary. Isn't that getting a little old Tris?" she questioned, cocking her head to once side mockingly.  
  
"I always like a challenge, and around here," Tristan said, looking directly at her so she got the full meaning of his next words, "the 'challenges' have never been that hard to get."  
  
As James and Giles walked up to the group of teenagers, Tristan couldn't help commenting, "What the hell happened to your face?"  
  
***  
  
Sitting in the Legal Studies class, Rory pulled out a book. She was early to class, although Paris was in the same class, she had taken the hint that Rory wanted to be left alone to cool off. Hearing the other students fill into the room Rory flinched a little. She still wasn't ready to deal with people yet, especially Chilton people. The wounds that had been opened earlier still hadn't healed enough for her to take any direct hits.  
  
"Hey Mary."  
  
It just kept getting better and better in the world of Rory Gilmore.  
  
"Bible boy." She greeted tonelessly, without looking up from her book.  
  
He smiled that cocky little smirk of his, as he took the seat next to hers.  
  
"Excuse me. That seat is saved." Rory stated.  
  
"For me? Why thank you Mary, I'm touched you thought of me."  
  
Looking over at him she was once again reminded to watch her step around him. Whenever she was around him all she could feel was an undercurrent of carelessness, and recklessness. She wondered if he could feel it, and somehow she understood that he's emotions were numbed, and he controlled everything he felt and decided just how he would react to every situation he was presented with. That's what made him more dangerous than Brad, or James or any of the other guys. With them Rory accepted their coldness, but with Tristan she didn't want to. With him there were flashes of danger that played out in his eyes when she caught him at the few times where no one else was looking.  
  
But before Rory's resolve would fracture, as she knew it someday would, Paris came to her rescue, stalking into the classroom as if she owned it. In a way she did, the academic side of Chilton was her territory; Rory and the student body were just guests in her world.  
  
"Unfortunately for your ego, Rory saved the seat for me." Paris announced, "So move."  
  
Winking at Paris, Tristan smirked as she gave him the finger. She really had come out of her shell in the time he was gone. Finding another seat near by, he flipped open his folder, and started coping down the notes written on the board. His mind was drifting as he took notes out of his text books, not that that was unusually in a class that naively allowed the students to work by themselves without a teacher looking over there shoulder ever second. Getting back to work, Tristan reminded himself to keep his head in the game, it wasn't like he was anxious to return to Military School.  
  
Seated by the window, Rory listened to Paris as she explained the concept of the advantages and disadvantages of having a jury in the modern law system in place in America. Finally grasping the idea, Rory thanked the blonde, and corrected her notes so she could understand the concepts when she re read the information. Paris was the only person Rory would ever ask to explain school work too, anyone else would consider it a weakness, that Rory was finally vilifying peoples suspicions of her unworthiness of Chilton. But Paris wouldn't, merely on the bases that Rory would never consider her just as another stereo type that Paris always found herself becoming when around people in the world she was born into.  
  
"Class, next lesson we'll be spending time on the semester project. I hope none of you have left your research to last minute, as I expect you all to be starting first drafts within this week." Mrs. Jackson announced looking up from her desk.  
  
At the teacher's words, Rory turned to look at Tristan. He gave her a small nod of recognition then when back to his work. Rory mentally slapped herself as she realised he still had her notes, she had meant to go over them with him earlier, but had forgot. Hopefully he understood her writing, and the issues she had hoped to cover.  
  
Rory hated doing group work, she was always unsure of what to take on, and always ended up doing more than her share, or feeling like she did nothing in the scheme of things. Paris excelled at group work, she was a born leader, while Rory was always afraid of bossing people around, or making them do things they didn't want to do. Somehow in the middle of her contemplation, Rory just knew Tristan wouldn't be the easiest person to work with, and she had a feeling that wasn't due to the academic side of things.  
  
***  
  
In the school car park, Rory pulled out her CD player, and waited for her bus. It was late, and not for the first time did she wish Lorelei had let Emily buy her a car. It was an abnormally hot day, and puling off her blazer, she watched the other students' file out of the school like bees leaving the nest. They all looked alike, in their neat uniforms, fashionable haircuts, perfect faces, and polished attitudes telling them how to act.  
  
Sitting on the outside of that world, Rory felt almost like an imposter, out of her depth, as if she had hit the ground running and stumbled somewhere along the way. Turning her gaze away, she focused on the incoming traffic, listening to The Dead Kennedy's CD pumping into her ears. Suddenly she jumped, feeling someone shaking her shoulder. Pulling off the headphones, she looked up to see the amused face of Tristan.  
  
"Wow, for a second there I though you were ignoring me." He quipped sitting next to her, and making himself at home.  
  
Annoyed at herself for not seeing his approach, Rory glared at him, letting him know just how amused she was with his charming comments. She refused to let him see any attachment she may have formed with him. He couldn't ever be anything more that an acquaintance. She once deluded herself into the idea that they could be friends, but now after seeing him again she knew they could never be friends. There was too much between them to ever be just friends. They effected each other in a way that both of them hated, as that was the bases of the weakness they caused in each other. Crossing her arms over her chest, she stood up, and moved away, so she was a meter away from him. Safe distance she reminded herself as she felt her heart speed up abnormally.  
  
"What'd you want?" she snapped still rattled.  
  
"That's not very polite, but I can deal. Compared to Military school your tone is just charming." He smiled, his white teeth flashing wolf like in the afternoon sun. "We have to get together some time to work on the project."  
  
"We've still got five weeks before it's due." Rory stated, knowing instinctively it would be a bad idea for her to be anywhere alone with Tristan while she was effected by him that way.  
  
Her comment seemed to amuse him, making his eyes sparkle, "If this was when I first meet you Mary, I bet you would have finished it, and several other projects in the first week they were handed out."  
  
Bristling, she shot a death glare at him, "Maybe I have other things happening in my life now? And the names Rory."  
  
"I like Mary more. I suits you." He told her leeringly.  
  
"You're an idiot then."  
  
"That wasn't very nice." He reprimanded in a relaxed tone, as if her insult was just water off a ducks back.  
  
"I'm not a very nice person." Rory replied icily.  
  
Looking down at his watch, Tristan saw the time. It was getting late, and it was clear Rory was usually on her way home by now.  
  
"Do you want me you give you a life home?" he questioned suddenly, taking both Rory and himself by surprise at his unexpected offer.  
  
"I take the bus." Rory stated coldly, not liking where this was heading.  
  
People like Tristan didn't offer to drive you home without expecting something in return, But then again, a small voice in her mind called out, Tristan isn't exactly prone to fitting into an category so easily. In truth, Rory didn't really know were to place Tristan, one day he would be a jerk, the next a player, the next her friend, and once in a while he'd be a totally sweetheart in a rough out of practice way. He was unpredictable, and that only added to his dangerous image. She was always on shifting ground with him, never sure how to act or speak to him.  
  
"It's late, meaning you won't be home anytime soon." He stated looking up the street towards the direction the bus would come, "Besides, we can work on our project. It would be easy for us."  
  
"I didn't bring my Legal books." Rory told him coldly.  
  
Smiling winningly, he told her smiling like the cat that ate the cannery, "I brought mine though, and the notes you leant me."  
  
"You planned this didn't you?" Rory questioned sharply.  
  
Enjoying her discomfort, Tristan grabbed her bag from her hands, and started leading her towards his car, "No, it was just coincident. Let's think of it as fate shall we?"  
  
Getting into the MG sports car, she slumped in her set, "I don't believe in fate," she mumbled.  
  
***  
  
The drive was quiet, with Tristan content in listening to the radio, and driving carefully towards Stars Hollows. Reaching the town in record time, he searched his memories from his last visit to remember where exactly she lived.  
  
"Pull the car over," Rory suddenly stated as the drive past a Hardware store.  
  
Applying to her order, he parked, then turned to her, waiting for her next actions. Jumping out of the car, she called for him to follow, and reluctantly he did so. Entering the store, Tristan found himself in a dinner. At the counter Rory begged for coffee, and stole a muffin from behind the counter, Tristan watched each action in a clinical view. Something about her seemed false, like she didn't fit the personality she was playing out. He wanted to leave, he wanted them both to leave, then she'd be back to what he liked, then she'd be true instead of a lie.  
  
"Tristan, you want anything?" she called happily as she chugged down a second cup of the hot liquid in question.  
  
"Tristan?" the guy behind the counter stated, his eyes swinging towards Tristan. "Who are you and what are you doing with Rory?"  
  
"This is Tristan my friend, we've got a project for one of our classes to do." Rory told him archly, her eyes doubting his right to question her actions in a way that made Luke nervous, before continuing calmly, "Tristan, this is Luke, he owns the dinner and has fed my mother and I since we moved here."  
  
"Here, here." Applauded the mother in question as she entered the establishment.  
  
Dressed formally in dark red suit and matching high heels she looked every bit the manger of the Stars Hollows Inn. Wearily, she made her way to her daughter, and stole her cup, drinking what was left much to Rory's dismay. She didn't seem to notice or understand the look Rory was giving Luke, or the way her daughter seemed to distance herself from everyone around her. All Lorelei saw was the dinner she and her daughter had grown up in, the scene that was so familiar she no longer would see any changes in the world she had constructed for them to live in.  
  
"Now, since I missed out on the first part of your Bridget Jones introduction, please fill me in on who this pretty blonde is?" she questioned her eyes dancing with mirth as Rory blushed.  
  
"Tristan DuGrey," he stated politely from years of training in the myriad of social occasions and blue collar shindigs, "It's a pleasure meeting you Mrs. Gilmore."  
  
Lorelei's eyes narrowed for a moment, "Military School Tristan DuGrey?"  
  
"Military School?" Luke echoed dangerously.  
  
"Lorelei," Rory warned, "Tristan and I have to go. We're partnered together for the Legal Studies project worth a hell of a big percentage of my final grade."  
  
Something about Rory's stance finally filtered through into Luke and Lorelei's minds, and set off their warning detectors. Rory didn't act defensive. She didn't hide things from the people in her life. She told Lorelei everything she felt, and Lorelei in turn told Luke anything that mattered. From how Rory was acting around Tristan both of them knew without Rory telling that, that the blonde boy was important to her. How important neither of them knew, probably Rory didn't even know that. But nether the less Tristan was an unencountered part of her world that was foreign to them, and this worried the two adults.  
  
"I don't think Rory should be going anywhere with this boy." Luke told her sharply, eyeing off Tristan disdainfully.  
  
"You don't?" Lorelei stated, her eyes now focusing on Luke, who in her eyes was second guessing her parenting skills.  
  
"Do you know him?"  
  
"He goes to her school. He obviously isn't a criminal if they allowed him back in!" she retorted colourfully.  
  
"Is he her boyfriend?" he replied loudly, his eyes snaking over to examine to the tall blonde haired teenager who was standing uncomfortable next to Rory not knowing what to do.  
  
"No he isn't. Rory would tell me if he were. I'm not a totally hopeless mother!" Lorelei replied in the same volume, starting to enjoy the bickering.  
  
"Like you knew about Dean?" he countered sending Lorelei into a spat of angry retorts.  
  
In the interlude of rude comments and foul play that followed, Rory hurried Tristan out of Lukes' and back into his car. Rory didn't like how Tristan saw that, or how he made her feel. His presents in Stars Hollow only seemed to show how she no longer fitted into the postcard perfect town her mother loved. It made Rory feel like a fraud and a fake, and Tristan only seemed to see how she seemed to fit more next to him that with her mother and the town's people. She hated him for that, for making her lost her place, her role in her society. But at the same time she loved her new place where she didn't feel like such a failure to everyone around her. Where she felt free of the society that made her into what she was.  
  
"I'm sorry, Luke just over protective, and my mothers just . . ." she trailed off, searching for the right word to fully describe her mother.  
  
"Interesting way to end the day." He commented dryly. "Remind me to avoid Luke in future."  
  
"Luke doesn't like any guy that's around me," she told him, her eyes watching his reactions, but there was none beyond the obvious, and she noted that.  
  
"You do chose your protectors well," Tristan smiled, his eyes lighting up as he drove up in front of her house.  
  
"I do have good taste," Rory stated, then seeing his evil look, she added, "Don't say a word bible boy."  
  
Laughing to himself, he made his way up to her front door, before saying leeringly, "I bet you'd be good at a lot of things Mary,"  
  
***  
  
Once again a huge thank you to Belle, without your encouragement this fic would still be just an idea in my strange, over active mind.  
  
*** 


	5. Untouchable

Title: Nine Months. Good copy 

Author: Professional Scatterbrain

Rating: R

Couple: R/T

Summary: Tristan returns to Chilton, and to the game, but Rory's not playing.

Note: Tristan left later on in Rory's first year at Chilton, so therefore the whole nine-month thing works (a little hint, it's a metaphor for the fic). After Tristan left Rory formed a fledgling friendship with Paris, Louise and Madeline, and by the time senior years rolls up there good friends, well, most of the time at least. Everything that happened with Dean and Jess happened except it happened all before senior year. At the end of the year before Rory told Jess she loved him, and he left suddenly straight afterwards. 

I made Chilton darker, because I found the whole picture perfect school depicted on the show nice, yet unrealistic. I tried to model it around my High School, showing the competitiveness, the cruelty, and self delusion within my environment. I go to a girls school though, so the guy thing still might take me a while to work out. Suggestions would be nice as this is my first GG fic.   

***

**Chp**** 5**

*** 

Day had passed between Tristan coming to Star's Hollow and in the intermission the two had tried to stay out of each other's way. But in reality they wanted the opposite of what they provided for each other. Rory wanted to be around him, just to feel some part of the freedom she had felt that day he visited her home. Tristan just wanted to see her not being perfect, just to see her as she saw him. 

In the afternoon in the stuffy hall of the old antiquated school Rory felt like she was at breaking point. It was the last class of the day, and the whole school had a general assembly. Some well know pompous speaker from the school board was coming to talk to the school about some boring topic. 

"Are we going to talk Rory?" Came Paris's voice as the blonde girl linked arms with the brunette as they walked up the corridors to the expansive hall where a proportion of the school was already seated.  

"About what?" 

"About the fact your sporting more bruises than my mother after my father takes a Viagra."

"Disgusting metaphor there girly." Rory commented. 

"You okay?" Paris asked at the two girls filled behind a group of people in there year level.

"Bad day." 

"No, it's like you've been down for a while. I didn't say anything, I just though it was a glitch and you'd get over it. But-"

Rory cut her off before anyone could hear anything they could use against her. "Chilton's just getting to me, you've forgotten what it's like being new and everything."

"No I haven't." Paris commented, almost sadly. 

As the two girls sat down, Louise and Madeline joined them a few moments later. The conversation was quiet, and only held together by Louise and Madeline. Both of the two girls knew something was up with Paris, and Rory, but knew better than to pry. 

As the assembly started Rory watched with growing annoyance as the members of the School board got up and talked on and on about how wonderful Chilton was, and how it valued every student. But as they started talking about there scholarship program, and the 'under privileged' students they help, Rory felt herself getting angry. 

"Hey Mary, they're talking about you." Came Tristan's voice from behind her. His breath was warm on her neck, and heat radiated from his skin. He effected her, and he knew it, and he knew she knew that he knew. Rory hated it. 

"Shut up." Spat Madeline, she stumbled slightly over the word, like Rory she detested swearing. 

Swearing didn't fit her persona. She was sweet and ditzy. It didn't matter she had the highest marks in the school for art. Or that she won an arts award every year. No one remembered her painting winning the Hartford portrait prize for her year level. People only remembered how she had dated half the swim team, and the entire basketball team. She was what people wanted, and she never bothered to try and correct their image of her. Why try to change something that would never be corrected? She was what her parents and peers wanted; she couldn't change what they made her into.   

Louise then said something much harsher and ruder, both comments silenced Tristan and his friends, but he still had a smirk on his face, unaware he'd just pushed Rory just that little bit to far. Her eyes narrowed, and her body tensed. Turning her attention back to the speaker, she listened to the rest of his speech, each word getting further and further under her skin. 

As Mr. Keys, the school coordinator took the podium, Rory felt a rush of hatred to the narrow minded teacher that had made her feel like nothing. 'No one should ever have that much power over a person', Rory thought angrily. 

"Well, that was interesting. Now I'd like to invite any students with questions to come up and participate in a Q&A session." Mr. Key's tone was light, and almost pleading with the students to waste some time so they wouldn't have to go back to class.  

Rory stilled. 'Don't do it' an internal voice pleaded with her. 

"Anyone?" came the almost begging voice of the try hard bastard of a teacher as Rory had taken to calling him. 

'Don't you dare, please!" pleaded the little voice again, but Rory didn't listen. Putting her hand up, she called, "I've got a question!"

"Ah," came Mr. Keys thankful voice, "Miss Gilmore, come up on stage so everyone can hear you."

Rory smirked, a grin that looked all too much like Tristan's, and felt something take over her body. Confidence flowed through her veins, and she couldn't wait to see what would happen once she'd asked her 'question'. She was running without thought of the consequences of her actions, and acting totally out of her given character. Paris noticed first, and it was her that pleaded with her to be sensible.  

"Ror?" she begged, the tone striking a discord. Paris never begged. 

"Rory! What are you doing?" then came the worried questions from her friends as they caught onto Paris realisation, but Rory was way passed the point where they could influence her. 

Stalking up the isles and onto the stage, Rory felt everyone watching her. With a smirk on her face she moved towards the microphone. This would be fun. It would be stupid, and dangerous, but she didn't care. All she wanted was to not feel like she was here on borrowed time, as if it was some great favor for her to walk the halls. As if James and Giles had the right to make her feel powerless. As if she had no right to be in Chilton, a world she managed to flourish in against people's wishes. 

*** 

Tristan knew something was wrong with Rory the moment he saw her on stage. There was something predatorily about her, the way she looked at each person who spoke, and the way her glaze lingered on the last speaker. He didn't know whether to sit back and watch the show that was inevitable coming, or to try and stop the train wreck that would follow. The looks from his friends made the decision for him, and Tristan reluctantly sat back in his chair to see it all play out. 

"I was just wondering, since I'm one of those 'scholarship' students you talked about," Rory started so earnestly, and then she continued. Each of her carefully unplanned words leaving her mouth. But from her they were too unexpected and sharp, as they impacting on the surrounding audience like knives on bare skin. 

Tristan watch in amazement as the teachers and various speakers froze in shock. The words that had left this pretty, naïve, innocent looking young girl made the entire hall silent. She cocked her head to the side, letting her slippery dark hair fall over the side of her face. She looked so utterly angelic, so utterly lovely it seemed wrong that she didn't fit the image, her words, stated so innocently, had shattered that appearance of her, that she no longer could be considered as the good girl. 

She seemed so out of place, unable to be categorised, that Tristan wanted to turn back time to when she was just a Mary, when she was just a small town girl that all his friends wanted to fuck until she wasn't perfect, until she wasn't pure, until she was one of them, cruel and desecrated beyond salvation.

 Now Rory more than untouchable, only she didn't know it.

"Ms Gilmore!" squawked one of the speakers as a couple of harassed looking teachers rushed onto the stage attempting to lead Rory towards the principals office, where she was sure to get threatened, and suspended. 

Gripping the microphone lazily, she started to state in that mockingly earnest tone, "Sure I'm happy to be attending this prestigious school, but hey, I'm not gonna kiss your feet. I deserve to be here. Not cause my parents are rich and buy the school a new building each time report cards are due, or because I spend my leisure time fu-" her speech only ended as the red faced principal cut her off.

"Ms Gilmore, desist!" he commanded, but she refused to listen. 

"I figure if I'm going to be your poster 'under privileged' student-"

Mrs. Jackson interrupted, moving forward to turn off the power so Rory's words would not continue to echo out into the great space of the hall, like poison slipping into the water stream slowly and steadily. Rory didn't seem effected by the teacher's actions, she looked so relaxed, so calm, that she intimidated people. But the only thing Tristan noticed was the enormous amount of power she wielded, her body seemed to be made up of it, and she controlled everything around her in a manor that paralleled Tristan.  

"There will be consequences for your actions," Mrs. Jackson snapped, and in the shocked silence of the hall her words echoed without the need for the microphone. 

The Rory turned to her. Her face so calm and devoid of emotions that Tristan had to remind himself it was her. Her blue eyes were cold, and dangerous, yet they sparkled, and Tristan knew in that second Rory was about to say something so out of character, so harsh that the certainly would be lasting consequences. 

 "You're lucky you're a bitch, as if you weren't I would have cut your balls off."

The shocked hush ended as Rory broke out into a mocking smirk and was lead off the stage. All the while it was as if she was the one with the power, not the teachers that accompanied her side. It was like she was leading them not the other way around. In these actions Chilton started to change, the power was shifting, and as Tristan's friends started bitching and laughing they all knew it. Rory had changed things more than she would ever know, and Tristan suddenly saw a side of her he had never been allowed access to before. 

*** 

She had been suspended. 

Five days. 

Not even a real suspension, just a half-assed one her mother would tease her about for the rest of her life.

That's all Rory could grasp. At this present moment she was sitting on the jeep, outside the broken down house. The wreck of a building marred the beauty of the landscape, just as she was rendered broken by her never ending thoughts of what she was meant to be verses what she was. Her hands had stopped shaking, and she had once again started to breathe somewhat normally again. 

"I hate that hell hole" she spat suddenly, jumping off the hood of the car she paced around, as if her body had been filled with energy. 

Rory was tired of Chilton, and all it represented. Maybe she should have just given up ages ago. Thinking back to the past months she had spent in there, Rory shuddered. Teasing, second-guessing, back stabbing, and at the end of it all, was it really worth it? 

In the jeep, Rory could hear her mobile ringing. The annoyingly robotic tune of Inspector Gadget looped over and over, and without Rory answering it, the calls added up. It was Lorelei who was doing the calling, obviously knowing about her only daughter's display in the Chilton Hall. Apart for her eccentric totally out of touch mother, Paris and Madeline had called leaving short messages. Louise had taken a different approach knowing Rory wouldn't be answering any calls, and had managed to slip a note in Rory's bag telling the brunette to call her when she felt like it. 

Looking over to the old house, Rory examined it as if for the first time. It was moldy and falling down now, but at some time many years ago it might have been beautiful. Maybe a little on the ornate side, but in some peoples opinions it would have been something special. Wooden, with long beams in the ceilings it was a copy of the old western houses seen in shot em up western films. But as Rory continued to stare at it, the wooden construction, usually a symbol of humility seemed ostentatious, and almost mocking the wild fields of untended land. 

The irregular windows, framed with the shards of broken glass that still inhabited the framework stared ghostlike back at the young girl. The fallen down roof of pine shingling spilled over from the inside of the house, allowing rectangles of stained pine to cover the dying grass like a unsightly carpet.   

The curved white pebble driveway was covered with weeds, and reminded Rory of a decaying lifestyle. But even Rory had to admit, in its day, this house would have been something. It defiantly embodied the 'us and them' divide. It was then Rory understood why, even when she first started coming here she had avoid the house with a passion. This house represented all the parts of the world she hated, the decadents, the sadism, the swallow gossiping, the competition, the stupid pointless life Rory felt like was being pushed into living. 

Calmly, as if moving underwater, Rory walked to the back of the jeep, and opened the back door. In a small rusty tin, she found what she was looking for. Unlike the incident on the stage at Chilton, Rory wasn't feeling anger. In a way she was so detached from her body, it was like she was watching from a safe distance. As if waiting until safe to return to her body. Unscrewing the lid, she smelt the fumes of the petrel, and her eyes watered as the vapors drifted lazily threw the air. Walking up the driveway, she smiled, she wasn't afraid of the wreck anymore. 

The petrel spilled onto her hands as she threw it on the moldy walls, and peeling paint. Pulling out a lighter, Rory cringed. It was the very one she had stolen from Jess only a few days before he left . . . only a few days before Rory had told him that she loved him. Whipping her hands on the ever neat and ill fitting Chilton blazer she was unaware of her broken Chilton badge dropping to the ground out of her pocket or the notes from philosophy following the elegant silver pin. Then carefully, as if she were putting the finishing touches on an essay, she flicked the lighter, causing a small weak flame to dance before her eyes. Memories came flashing back to her as she watched the flame sway from side to side in the gentle wind. 

_"You do remember you are here on a scholarship Miss Gilmore?" Mr. Keys reminded her sharply. _

_"Yes sir." Rory replied, biting back the urge to remind him she was on a scholarship which evolved her paying school fees, without the help of the 'generous' school. _

_"Your grades are high, but we both knew they could be higher. In Chilton grades are what sets you apart from others," he continued on. _

_"Sorry sir, I won't make trouble again." _

_"I know in Stars Hollow High you can get away with behavior like this, but not at Chilton."    _

_"We'll be writing you your mother you understand." _

_"I understand."_

Yes, she did understand. Although she wished otherwise. She wasn't like them, she didn't have the automatic acceptance, all she had was a mother who ran an inn, with one set of Grandparents who had disowned her and the other set hopelessly trying to form a relationship with her. She had never felt ashamed of where she came from, but under the inspection of the blue blood and their hounds she knew she didn't measure up. That day after class had just proved it beyond a doubt to her. 

_"Is it true your mother was cut of from the family inheritances after some one night stand got her pregnant?" the ever dangerously charismatic James asked, his voice was even, but cruel. _

_"No, it was after she followed the Bangles around for a year," she replied sarcastically. _

_"Was that before or after she gave birth to her child at sixteen?" he asked, his eyes were laughing cruel, at her. He was putting her back in her place, and he was enjoying this. _

_"Rory?"__ Madeline whispered, a worried look covering her face. Rory had paused, James had gotten past her protective shield. _

_"No cutting insult Gilmore?" he mocked leering at her_

_Standing up, Rory gathered her books. Looking at James, she felt her body shaking with fury. _

_"You fucking dickhead." She spat out. _

_ "At least I'm not a bastard." _

Dropping the lighter, she watched as the minuet flame grew and grew. Time speed past Rory without her knowledge, and as she walked away from the wreck, a small smile graced her face. She was on the most dangerous edge of her short life, but the problem was she didn't care. Taking her seat on the bonnet of the battered jeep once again, she turned to watch the house. 

Flames licked the wooden walls, as it raced to the sky. Slowly, the house was falling apart, the walls became warped, and the remaining pain cracked, and flickered off the surface, one by one, each beam fell, and each room collapsed on itself. Heat and soot filled the air, tangling in her clothes and skin. Staining her hair with the smell of burning and fire, and leaving her hands blackened, and blistered, but she didn't move from her seat. Tapping her nails on the metal hood, Rory smirked as the black smoke filled the air, rising high into the sky. 

She wasn't afraid. 

***

In the brightly lit rooms of the country club, Tristan watched his parents speak. It was always a combination of praise and criticism coming out of there mouths, and mix of thorns and fake smiles.  It was another charity thing. Not the fundraiser his brother and wife were being dragged too, but pretty much identical to it. 

"Tristan, dance?" came a smooth, trained voice, awakening him from his thoughts. 

Looking over, Tristan was greeted by the seductive pout of Lauryn Brenner. Dressed in some overly expensive label, her tanned skin, wide emerald eyes, and wavy chestnut hair made her look sensuous and in control of everything around her. She was one of the many who Tristan had, she was beautiful, and she knew it, but other than that there was nothing too exceptional about her. She was another version of Summer, but unlike her, he had chased Lauryn, and enjoyed it. 

"Well?" she questioned, cocking her head to the side, flashing a perfect smile, probable worth thousands in dental bills. 

"Would I ever refuse a beautiful girl?" Tristan replied, putting that touch he had learned to used well over the years into his smirk.

"Than that's a yes." She said somewhat dangerously, leading Tristan to believe Lauryn still had a few games to play with him. 

*** 

The smoke and soot had been washed off her skin days again the moment Rory arrived back to the empty house. Lorelei hadn't even noticed the charred clothes that had been thrown out in the rubbish that night, nor had she noticed how quiet her only child had been since that day. In the late morning, Rory left her room, her bare feet padding along the polished floorboards like an urban rhythm she knew off by heart. 

"Ror, hurry up, I have to be at the inn before eight," called Lorelei as she tried to eat a half cooked pop tart, and shave her legs so she could wear her favourite skirt. 

A void was forming. Slowly, and surely, Rory could see it happening, and as she watched from a distance she had made herself stay at, she did nothing to stop it. Rory knew she could stop all this, it could all go back to the way it was before. It would only take a whispered secret, a gift of trust, but she stayed silent. Why? She didn't know. Maybe she was afraid a few things still. 

"Just a second." 

Lorelei was making her work at the inn. Apparently the suspension was worth more than a joke or two to her, and because of the Rory had spent the last few days being her mothers punching bag. But of course, Lorelei would forgive her, she always did, and Rory didn't like the way her mind was thinking so logically and inattentively towards the ruffle in the feathers of the Gilmore girls' family. 

"You're working as a maid today. You can't cook to save your life, but Sookie said she wouldn't mind you cleaning dishes after you finished cleaning the rooms I set you."

Super. 

So not only did Rory had to deal with people bossing her round and being paranoid about her being in their rooms, but now she had to clean dishes. That was the exact reason Rory planned on never cooking for herself.  

Within minutes Rory was dressed in the uniform that Lorelei had provided for her, and was sitting in the car waiting for her mother. As Lorelei hurried out of the house, Rory saw her pause. Something flashed through her eyes for a moment, but it was too quick for Rory to fully translate. All Rory could understand were the emotions closest to the surface, disappointment, and fear. Rory knew instantly why. Lorelei saw herself in Rory, and only a few years before that had been Lorelei. Rory was doing the job her mother had working in when she was a child, she was filling a role that Lorelei had strove to prevent her from taking. 

"When I was your age I was a maid." Lorelei stated as they drove towards the inn. "It was my first real job ever."

Rory didn't say a word. The aching disappointment of her mother was filling the enclosed space of the jeep as she reminisced about her past. Rory felt like she had fallen from a tight rope, and as she fell she could see ever face looking at her sadly as dropped out of control. All the faces looked at her, telling her this should never have happened, that she had been perfect, and she had spoiled everything. Spoiled all there hard work to get her on that tight rope. She wanted to cry but it seemed like she had forgotten how. 

"I never thought I'd see you in that uniform." She muttered, "The reason I'm making you do this Rory, apart from having you being of some use to me during your suspension, is to show you that you always have to look before you leap."

*** 

**Next Chp: Weaknesses. **

*** 

"I gave you a better life, I gave you everything I could give, and this is how you treat me?" Lorelei retorted, her hands clenched in fists, her nails cutting into the skin of her palms. 

"You gave me everything you wanted. You never really gave me anything I wanted." Rory yelled, the truth of her words leaving her hollow as they left her mouth. 

*** 

This chp is dedicated to Belle, the girl that not only fixed all the mistakes but makes me see my writing in a new light. Thank you. 

***


	6. Weaknesses

Title: Nine Months. Good copy 

Author: Professional Scatterbrain

Rating: R

Couple: R/T

Summary: Tristan returns to Chilton, and to the game, but Rory's not playing.

Note: Tristan left later on in Rory's first year at Chilton, so therefore the whole nine-month thing works (a little hint, it's a metaphor for the fic). After Tristan left Rory formed a fledgling friendship with Paris, Louise and Madeline, and by the time senior years rolls up there good friends, well, most of the time at least. Everything that happened with Dean and Jess happened except it happened all before senior year. At the end of the year before Rory told Jess she loved him, and he left suddenly straight afterwards. 

I made Chilton darker, because I found the whole picture perfect school depicted on the show nice, yet unrealistic. I tried to model it around my High School, showing the competitiveness, the cruelty, and self delusion within my environment. I go to a girls school though, so the guy thing still might take me a while to work out. Suggestions would be nice as this is my first GG fic.   

*** 

**Chp**** 6 **

*** 

In the stuffy halls of Chilton, Tristan stalked down the hall. People moved to accommodate his path, never the other way around. Chilton was his territory; not even a stint in Military School could do anything to change that. Spotting the figure he was looking for, Tristan lengthened his strides, years of swimming training and cross-country running were visible as moved with raw grace along the rows of lockers. 

Seeing Paris annoyed look even from a distance, Tristan wonder what or who caused her this annoyance today. Knowing Paris it was probably something to do with the people she bossed around on the school paper. Usually he'd wait until she was in a somewhat better mood, but as he watched her stalk over to her locker, pushing people to the side with her usual lack of pleasantries he had a feeling she wouldn't be in a 'good' mood anytime soon. Besides, after another no show in Legal Studies that morning, Tristan was more than a little curious about where the darling Rory Gilmore was. 

Leaning against the locker next to hers, he asked bluntly, "Where's Mary?" 

Paris flipped her long hair over her shoulders in irritation, "Away."

"Away as in?" he prompted.

"Suspended. And don't you even start." She spat, turning on her heel, "Rory didn't do anything wrong and even an idiot like you should know that."

All day Paris had been fielding questions about the third Lorelei, and Paris was never happy when her time was wasted. It wasn't that she had anything against Rory; Paris had known her actions were a long time coming, but it wasn't anybody's business about the repercussions of Rory's choices.

 Paris hated gossip, she hated being victim of it, and she detested it when her friends were effected by the vapid useless people that graced the Hartford society pages. Louise, and to some extent Madeline could handle this sort of attention, but Rory had grown up where the only attention she got was for a good grade, not a rebel without a cause standing up to the authorities type of action. Without the girl in question around to focus the attention of the masses Paris was left trying to deal with her life and the annoying interest from fellow Chiltonites. 

"Don't be mean Paris darling," he joked trying to get a smile out of the girl. 

"That doesn't work on me," she retorted evenly, not enjoying having him following her round like a puppy on a leash.

She hated being used. 

She hated it when people only spoke to her when they wanted something. Tristan could be like that, but she forgave him because he didn't do it consciously like others. Tristan didn't know how to have friends, he only knew how to use people. Paris gave her thanks to that to his 'loving' parents for that gem of a talent. 

"It used to," he tried smiling that dazzling smile that made other lesser girls weak in the knees  

"But luckily, I reaslised how much of a dick head you are, so now I can proudly say I'm unaffected by your sexual innuendoes and half assed flirting." She retorted dryly, her eyes sparkling as she spoke to him, bemused by his tactics. 

"Par, you must have a bullet in your pocket. Being around you is like adrenaline rush all the bloody time," Tristan joked, pulling her hair just to annoy her further. 

Paris signed, and muttered, "Idiot," before giving him the finger and stalking off into her next class. 

*** 

Days pasted, and as the two young Gilmore women drove up to the Inn for the fourth day that week, Rory was suddenly struck by how small it was, and how claustrophobic it made her feel. Each day before had felt like she was drowning, struggling to breath, but only opening her mouth to find it filling with stale useless air. The scratching uniform she was wearing was too tight against her throat, and as she pulled it looser Rory had the abrupt awakening that if she didn't do something she'd die. 

"We're late. Hurry up Rory, you've got to do the morning shift with the other maids. The same shift I did when I was your age. God, you're turning into me," Lorelei muttered, her words cutting into Rory. 

Tugging hair into a messy ponytail, Rory told herself to keep her mouth shut. On the tip of her tongue she wanted to yell and scream something, anything, just to try and stave off the feeling of suffocation she felt closing in. Each day it was the same, the same looks, the same whispering behind her back. 'Look, Rory's turning into Lorelei'. 

Just like in the assembly all those many days ago, Rory felt something take her over, so fighting spirit that refused to let her disintegrate under the hell of white sheets, dirty towels, and the oh so sugary sweet customers.  

"I'm not you okay, so stop saying it." Rory spat as she finally popped the top few buttons of her starched white blouse open. 

Whipping around to face her daughter, Lorelei Gilmore's face took on a quality Rory remembered seeing on Emily whenever she got pissed off.  She cocked her head on one side, taking on the intimidating position that would have scared anyone other that Rory, and then crossed her hands over her waist defensively.

Lorelei hated being challenged when it wasn't on her terms. 

"What did you say mini me?" she questioned, her voice dulcet and relaxed, but there was a visible undercurrent of anger that should have warned a saner Rory to back down. But that Rory wasn't in charge at the moment, and because of that the air around then crackled with electricity. 

"You heard me the first time. I'm not you. Stop trying to make me into you." 

"It doesn't look like I have to," Lorelei snapped, "You're doing a bang up job of becoming a high school drop out/screw up all by your little self fruit of my loins."

"Why do you always have to do that?" Rory spat, "Why am I always your mini me, or some other name implying my identicalness to you? To everyone that matters I'm like Lorelei mark two, god, you even had to name me after you!" 

"You don't honestly think that?" Lorelei cried out dramatically, "I gave up so much for you, I gave up my future, I gave up my family-"

"Yes, you gave up so much. You gave up a set of parents you hated, and a future you didn't want. All I was an excuse to run away, an excuse to give up a relationship that scared you half to death." Rory yelled, half of what she said being lies, the other half being truths that she had refused to speak before this day. 

"You don't know anything!" Lorelei yelled, her eyes blazing.

"Apparently I do, with me being Lorelei junior. You ran away from Chris, so terrified that it wouldn't work out and he'd leave you just like everyone else had. You left him first so he wouldn't have the chance to leave you. You do it with every guy, and guess what? So do I, I ran from Dean, oh and then Jess went and mixed up the rules of the game, so after I ran from him and came back, he decided to run from me. Great track record, only thing that's missing as an 18 month old kid-"

"Shut up." Lorelei swore, her face twisted and heated with fury, for the first time she was more than angry with her daughter, her best friend, Lorelei was furious. 

"Right, great come back. I've been told that all my life. Shut up and look pretty Rory, get good grades Rory, go to Harvard Rory, go see the world like Lorelei never could Rory, stay away from boys Rory, what else do you want from me? How about go off to New York let Jess fuck me outside his balcony, get pregnant, start working full time at the Inn? Then we can really be identical." Rory snapped sarcastically, "Then people will really be able to call us sisters," 

"I gave you a better life, I gave you everything I could give, and this is how you treat me?" Lorelei retorted, her hands clenched in fists, her nails cutting into the skin of her palms. 

"You gave me everything you wanted. You never really gave me anything I wanted." Rory yelled, the truth of her words leaving her hollow as they left her mouth. 

"Then what do you want?" Lorelei asked her tone condescending and dangerous; she had never spoken to Rory like this.   

"How would I know? I'm just Lorelei mark two, but it looks like I'm not doing much of a better job than the original. Wonder how long until I start fucking up and falling back to what the first Lorelei did?" Rory smirked cynically, her voice strong, with darkness filling the pauses of each break between words. 

Gliding past her mother, Rory realised she had nothing left to say. Everything thing that had been building up in her finally was let go. But in her wake she left a dangerous woman, angry and bitter. 

"Don't walk away from me!" Lorelei yelled at her daughter's back, only to have Rory turn and fix those dark cobalt eyes on her. 

"Why not?" Rory questioned, her tone so innocent yet sounding dangerous, "You do it to me all the time." 

***

The next few days pasted without incident. Rory worked her hands to the bone in the Inn, and came home each night with weary muscles and a killer headache. Lorelei had not once taken it easy on Rory because she was her daughter, probably in result of there fight she was treated worse than the other employees. Lorelei was sulking, and without Rory bending to her will like in the past, Lorelei was left angry and bitter.  

As night came on Saturday evening, Rory changed into an old over sized Harvard shirt her father had given her and pulled her bright purple dressing gown tight around her curvy form. She was tired beyond belief; all she wanted to do was crawl under her blankets and sleep. How her mother could have done that sort of work at her age with a baby was miraculous. All Rory wanted to do each day was close her eyes and wake up when everything didn't feel like it was crushing down on her. Hearing the clicking of heeled shoes, Rory cracked an eye open and smiled as her best friend entered her room. 

"Hey Rock Star in training," Rory greeted as Lane ambled into her room dressed perfectly in black pants and delicate green top making her look so different from the girl that had befriended Rory in kindergarten all those years ago.

"Hey, I heard about the suspension. I would have called but-"

"But your mother found out and wouldn't let you talk to the bad seed." Rory said knowingly.  

Nodding flippantly, Lane grabbed a handful of chips, then threw the packet to Rory, and replied in a muffled voice, "Something along those lines. She also said you needed to find religion my trouble making side kick." 

Closing the door to her room, Lane flipped out the latest CD. Smiling to herself to slip it into the CD player, her face relaxing into a blissful smile as the first beats of the music pasted through the speakers. Fast, loud, brashly poetic music filled the rooms, lifting Rory's mood. 

"So, you allowed to go out tonight?" Lane questioned hopefully.

"Sometimes I get the feeling your using me so you can spend time with Henry." Rory joked, but the mirth of her words didn't reach her eyes that were left cold and shattered from the darkness closing in on her.

"Why else would I have you as my best friend?" Lane replied without missing a beat. "So? You 'Party girl Barbie' or stay at home 'Locked in your room Barbie'?"

"Neither hopefully. And Lane, Barbie?"

"Rory, I can't go without you!" Lane pleaded, her eyes taking on the puppy dog look she had learnt early on from Lorelei. "Please, please came with me tonight, and don't dare tell me Lorelei has done something as prosaic as putting you on house arrest."

Yawning, Rory paused, stretching her aching muscles, "Yeah, I can go, but only for an hour, so no time for the bank job, only the slutty dancing and so forth."  

"So it's not really worth it?" Lane sighed, flopping down on Rory's unmade bed. 

"Lorelei's version of grounding me."

"Original. Sort of like the Cinderella deal, but without the Prince Charming."

Rory wrinkled her nose, "I hated those fairy tales. All about repressed women getting saved by some pretty guy. They should save themselves."

"Yes, but that would have taken the romance out of the story of little old Cindy saved Prince Charming from his horrible father." Lane said ever so seriously. 

"You think about these things way too much." Rory laughed, amused by her best friends somewhat eccentric nature. 

"Hey, you try going to Stars Hollow High with only Lindsey and her friends to listen to." Lane huffed, with a slight edge to her voice. 

Not everything had been smoothed over since Rory left for Chilton, leaving Lane behind. Obviously, there were issues that had still to be resolved, but neither girl made any move towards bringing them up. It was easier this was. It was safer. But is could still hurt. 

"I call you tomorrow. Give you the run down." Lane said picking herself up. 

Rory watched her movements. They were gracefully and effortless. Lane was growing up, changing. Her hair was longer now, and was almost always out, swinging around her face. As Lane stood by the mirror at the far side of the room, she examined her make up once more. Applying more make up than her strict mother would ever let her, Lane's dark eyes became smoky, and her cheekbones stood out, making her face catlike, and rebellious. It wasn't the first time Rory had the epiphany, that someday Lane would really rebel, and break free of the cage she was forced to live within. She'd be free of her parents, her family, everything sooner or later. 

But was that what Rory wanted as well? 

She couldn't decided, and it scared her. 

*** 

Tristan watched from the middle of a large group of friends, for what he didn't know, he just watched the people. He watched Giles flirting with Marcy Joy, the pretty Asian gymnast whose trademark flexibility made her one of the more memorable girls. On the other side of the room Tristan spotted Louise, going off into some random room, with some random guy, while unconsciously looking at Giles. Alcohol was being consumed by the crate load, teenagers dancing and acting recklessly, with no care for anything or anyone. There was an air of violence, either potential or performed in the atmosphere.   

"What's with you?" Summer asked approaching the tall blonde teenager, her eyes narrowing, and her face wrinkling in distaste. 

Tristan felt a wave of anger wash over him. Summer. Here. Flaunting the power she had. All he wanted was to get back at her. To show her where she really belonged. She was nothing more than a trophy wife in training, another Annabelle except she exemplified everything Tristan was meant to want while Summer only imitated it. 

Revenge.

 He knew there was nothing short of sadistic and hedonistic to these wishes of pay back, but he didn't feel remorse. Why should he? Summer had played him, even he had to admit that. But the tables would turn, and he would show her. All Tristan had to do was wait. Summer wasn't stupid, she wasn't a ditz, or a fool, but in a way that would make revenge all the sweeter. 

"Made anyone cry today Summer?" he asked, making sure not to catch her eyes, he didn't want her to think he cared.  

Her catlike eyes scorned at him, but that only made Tristan grin to himself. Giving Tristan the finger, Summer stalked off, her hips swinging, her body flowing like quick silver. 

Smirking to himself he watched her hips sway as she glided away. Summer was a bitch, but he was used to bitches in his lifestyle. Finding a group of his friends, Tristan eased into the mindless conversation his mind swimming from the liquor he had consumed earlier. He wasn't a big drinker, he had long ago learn the importance of always making sure he had his head in the game wherever he was, it was easier that was to avoid any incidents. Or to create them if his track record was anything to go by.

James grinned knowingly as he spotted Tristan's wondering gaze, "You still looking for your Mary?"

Giles turned slightly, taking his eyes off Louise to watch his friend. "Go ask the girl with Henry. I think her names Jane or Lane. She and Rory are friends." 

Tristan merely nodded, knowing there was an ulterior motive to any advice his friends would hand out. He knew right then not to approach the graceful Korean girl or ask any questions about Rory. She was a challenge not an obsession, Tristan had to keep that in sight or else he'd end up like his parents. Rory wasn't cold, but she wasn't someone he could picture in his life. He wanted her, that was certain, but he didn't believe it would work. It just seemed like he always forgot that when he saw her.  

"Apart from her untouchable status, and siren beauty," Brad stated, leading onto a bluntly spoken question, with a hint of curiosity, "What is it about that Gilmore chick that makes you want her?"

"I think they were the things that got me about her." Tristan clarified, his tone was bored, and showed no hint of affection to Rory. 

That was the way it had to be, the way that it had always been. 

"About who?" Madeline asked bouncing up to the group with Austin's arm around her waist.

Her raven hair glinted in the light, and her wide eyes looked a little hazy. She wasn't drunk, she was too smart for that, but it was enough to relax herself, to "socialise," as her mother had stated when her daughter had asked to stay home that night. 

"No one." Giles muttered his eyes fixing on Louise once more. 

Madeline seemed to pause and redirect her attention for a moment, "Rory isn't coming tonight. Lane told me she'd really, really worn out from working at the Independence Inn all this week."

Twisting the crystal necklace around her neck with one hand, Madeline looked every bit the free spirit carefree girl she was. But she was optimistic, not stupid. She wasn't innocent, she wasn't a slut, but she knew how people like Tristan worked, and she knew that Rory, although appearing like she knew everything, in fact knew little about the society her parents ran from as teenagers. 

"We weren't talking about Rory." Brad commented idly, his eyes already seeking out a new topic of interest, in this case the subject of his attention was in a leather mini shirt and a shear top.

Feeling Austin's grip on her waist tighten. Madeline smiled at him lustfully, knowing he was making sure he knew how much she knew he wanted her. It was the same pattern every time, just with different people acting out each role. Madeline let his hand stray under her top, just touching the skin of her midriff, that was the next part in the game, soon it would be over and ready to start again, she knew that but did nothing to change the outcome. 

"Of course you were." Madeline stated happily, with a smile on her face, "Tristan always gets this look in his eyes when Rory the topic of interest."

He hated her for saying that, for bring attention to his weakness. 

*** 

**Next Chp: Hangman's Robes. **

***

Daniel stiffened, it was obvious to Tristan how much Daniel disliked conversing with his brother from this one action, "It's neither. There was a fire on the old DuGrey property. Arson. The original house was burnt to the ground."

"I hated that wreck." Tristan muttered smirking.

"You shouldn't say that around father." Daniel warned crossing his arms over his chest defensively. 

*** 

Another thank you to Belle for helping me with this fic and with everything else. 

***


	7. Hangman's robes

* * *

Title: Nine Months.

Author: Professional Scatterbrain

Rating: PG - 13

Couple: R/T

Summary: Tristan returns to Chilton, and to the game, but Rory's not playing.

Note: Tristan left later on in Rory's first year at Chilton, so therefore the whole nine-month thing works (a little hint, it's a metaphor for the fic). After Tristan left Rory formed a fledgling friendship with Paris, Louise and Madeline, and by the time senior years rolls up there good friends, well, most of the time at least. Everything that happened with Dean and Jess happened except it happened all before senior year. At the end of the year before Rory told Jess she loved him, and he left suddenly straight afterwards.

I made Chilton darker, because I found the whole picture perfect school depicted on the show nice, yet unrealistic. I tried to model it around my High School, showing the competitiveness, the cruelty, and self delusion within my environment. I go to a girls' school though, so the guy thing still might take me a while to work out. Suggestions would be nice as this is my first GG fic.

* * *

**Chp**** 7: Hangman's robes **

****

****

****

* * *

****

****

****

The next few days of school continued without notation.

Classes came and went, each more boring than the last.

It seemed to Tristan nothing changed since he left for Military school nine months previously. But he had wanted it to change. If the situation was altered, even in some miniscule way, then that might have made it easier not to fall back into old habits. But as each day ended, Tristan fears faded, no longer bothering him, leaving him no longer trying to stave off the inevitable falling back into bad graces.

He joined the swim team. The coach was ecstatic, apparently he got hold of the Military school transcripts and saw the record times. Not that it mattered to Tristan. He swam in Military school as a diversion, back at Chilton his diversion of choice were girls.

As he finished yet another worthless drill that left his head dizzy he waited for Coach Andrews to say something. Maybe a word of praise would be thrown at him? Or maybe it would be criticism aimed at getting his focus back on track? Neither affected him anymore, years of fake smiles, and carefully placed compliments had desensitised him to peoples edited opinions of him. While the Coaches words may change day to day, to Tristan, the older man always said the same thing; little more than a variation on the theme.

"Good time DuGrey." Coach Andrews noted, his eyes on his stop watch, "Work on your tumble turns, they're slowing you down."

Nodding, Tristan continued, feeling the soft ebb of pain filtering into his muscles as he worked on another set of drills. Drills were easy, they were repetitive, and by the end of the hour an urban rhythm would play like a record in his mind, acting as the commentary to his precisely executed moves. Yet again Tristan found himself placed in the fast lane again. Sometimes he could get out if it by arriving late, but that stopped working after Andrews figured out that ploy. He hated it; sharing a lane with three of the fastest swimmers on the school team meant he had to work twice as hard. That was the simple part; he was the better swimmer, with the talent, but in everyone else's eyes, he squandered it with his lack of commitment.

"Twenty seven seconds per fifty meters. Freestyle. Remember to keep the strokes clean and fast. " Brad announced from another lane. As team captain he took over practices whenever Andrews headed outside for a smoke. Such as now.

Sighing, Tristan turned his head, and waited for the other three swimmers to leave the deep end of the pool before he did. Freestyle wasn't his favourite stroke, but he got some of his best times for it. It was necessary to participate, and in doing so Tristan felt the familiar overtones of tranquillity taking him over. This was what he liked about swimming. The losing track of time, the soft repetitive sounds of water rushing past his ears. The way the world was disorientated in the few seconds he took to do a tumble turn, and the reassurances of breathing every four strokes, always breathing on the left side of the pool.

Unlike the past few practices where he had sprinted off as soon as the clock signified the end of the hour, Tristan continued, unwilling to give up the serenity that was flowing through his veins, and overriding pain. Maybe if he kept swimming long enough he might forget, if he was lucky he could block out the other stuff that made him lay awake at night. But today wasn't one of those days, and no matter how far he pushed, he couldn't forget the life he hated.

"DuGrey!" Andrews yelled from the edge of the pool, "My office now!"

Pulling himself out of the now calm water, Tristan felt the cold air hitting his skin like knives.

The cold weather was setting in, and with the large windows opened, the pool was freezing. Fatigue rushed into his limbs, and for a second Tristan considered heading home and bunking school for the day. It wasn't like anyone would notice he thought idly, but the sane part of his mind he knew better; his friends would notice, and knowing his luck it'd come back to bit him on the ass someday.

Waling towards the swimming coaches office, he smelt the faint stain of cigarette smoke, the lingering voices of there shared addiction. The coach had the sort of office that announced that, unlike the majority of schools in the world, sport was not given the first priority when funding was handed out. This could have been because for years Chilton advertised itself with grade point averages instead of sporting trophies, or more probably the lack of any real sporting achievements apart from the odd win or two against the weaker opposing school teams.

"DuGrey. Your times are down." He stated not bothering to sugar coat the information or offering any polite courtesies to soften the blow, "Even your meet times are now only marginally better than the practice times you've been setting.

Shifting his weight from one foot to the other, Tristan wondered why he was so insulted and guilty by Andrews' words, as if he could be doing better, as if he was failing. Was this just another disappointment to add to the list? Perhaps it would be just another venture that would be forgotten about, or reinvented by his family's public relations firm? Or just another thing that would keep him awake at night making promises he couldn't keep?

"I've looked at your files. Your previous coach noted that you spent most of your free time doing drills and sprint laps in preparation for meets."

"I had more free time on my hands then." Tristan muttered darkly, his muscles tensing as he extended to his full hight, no longer blending in with his environment. He had the look of a killer toying with his prey, but this time, something was lacking, and he felt detached from the scene around him, like he had suddenly become a bystander watching everything yet seeing nothing.

"You've got talent." The older man stated, "But you're wasting it."

"I'm doing my best."

"No you're not." Andrews stated bluntly, obviously used to seeing through the bullshit students threw at him, "Staying after practice once since joining the team is not putting in extra effort."

"What do you suggest?" Tristan asked sharply.

"I'm not going to suggest anything, as it's clear you don't want to do anything extra."

Coach Andrews' words stuck in Tristan's mind all day. Finally when the final bell sounded he ambled his way out of the school to his Porsche. Unable to stomach heading home, he drove around aimlessly. The dreary light filtering past the lacklustre grey clouds made links in his mind he wasn't able to figure out. Something about Andrew's statement lingered, its meaning applying more broadly that it had been intended.

Maybe the world was filled with squandered talent, maybe the old man had a point, or maybe Tristan was realising just how tried he was of all the shit in his life.

* * *

It was late, and Stars Hollows was quiet and slumbering in peace while Rory sat up, stuck in a nocturnal somnambulistic side of reality, alone with her thoughts. Lorelei was off on a date. Maybe it was Jason this time, or maybe Lorelei just needed to get out of the house. They hadn't really spoken since they fought. All they were left with was silence, and meaningless chatter. Each night Rory would go to her room and read, while Lorelei would watch TV. Sometimes Rory would venture out and sit with her mother but they couldn't say anything . . . well, not anything that mattered.

Feeling the weight of the quiet become unbearable, Rory slipped out of her room, and sat on the front porch. She held a book in hand; the kind of classic that had a title that carried more importance than the actual plot. That probably was a new metaphor to add to the rest referring to the state of her life at this moment in time.

With the outside lights on, Rory read late into the night, with moths flittering in and out of the light, like mythical creatures from her imagination. It was about 1am when Lorelei arrived back home, her clothes smelling like the old spice cologne of some male that had touched her just that little bit too much, matched with her bruised blood red lips, and her eyes bright and alive.

"Hey little grasshopper, isn't it a bit late for you. School tomorrow," she chided gently, still elated from her date.

Rory looked up, smiling a sad half smile, "Just wanted to make sure you got home safe,"

Lorelei face brightened for a second, as if seeing that old Rory again, but that girl flickered away from her as soon as Rory stood up and stretched in that overtly mature way of hers. Lorelei wasn't a fool. She saw the looks Tristan and other guys like him gave to Rory. In the past, the other guys never mattered. Rory ignored them; they didn't ever cause a blip on her radar. But what scared Lorelei now was how her daughter responded to Tristan.

Only him.

He was the only guy Lorelei had ever seen get such a reaction from her daughter. When he was around Rory, she just seemed to be too sexual, too adult and out of Lorelei's reach. Tristan made Lorelei see all the things that Rory hid in her mind. He had a power over her, able to make her do things that were out of character and her upbringing.

The worst thing was, Lorelei knew Rory liked it. Although Lorelei could see how carefully and beautifully he treated Rory, and the parts of him that had attracted her, he was still an interloper on the neatly built life Lorelei had created for the two of them.

"You have a good time Lorelei?" Rory asked softly, a timid look in her eyes.

"Yeah, Jason and I when to this new restaurant in Hartford, very fancy. He got told off for not wearing a tie, and made me flirt with the manager to let us in." Lorelei told her daughter in a fairy tale voice, "Then this old lady, one of the country club set insulted my shoes, you know my lucky ones, and Jason was my knight in shinning armor and said he liked them."

"Nice guy," Rory replied.

"Yeah, he's one of the good ones," Lorelei muttered as she entered the small house with Rory following her, "His got a cousin about your age; he suggested we set you guys up. Knowing the gene pool of his family the kid must be at least cute so you might get lucky,"

"No thanks."

Rory's answer was sharp, and decisive. Maybe too abrupt, but she couldn't take it back.

"Oh . . . That's okay . . ." Lorelei muttered, her face falling.

Silence reigned once again.

One of them had to leave before it became unbearable.

Rory distracted her mother from that choice she didn't even know she was presented with by turning to go to her room. Rory flinched lightly as she heard her mother sigh. Rory wondered what had happened with them. Lorelei was meant to understand, but suddenly, just when it counted, she didn't, and the only person who can close to understanding was Tristan, the boy that was too much like her paradox for Rory to ignore.

"Tomorrow," Lorelei called out, stopping Rory's exit, "You can take the jeep, I'm getting a lift with Sookie early."

That was how the day ended; cold and silent; two things that should never have been let into there relationship.

Each of the young women returned to their rooms, feeling more alone than they would admit. Lorelei in her bitter and regret, dreamt blank dreams of her past, each reel of memories haunting her of what might have been. While down stairs Rory lay awake, unable to fall into slumber, to afraid of waking up to find everyone gone, and scared to admit if things didn't change it wouldn't mater if people were around her or not, as she feel a thing anyway.

* * *

Returning to the dungeon of a home late that night after another wild party at some Chiltonites mansion, Tristan paused. Outside the mansion of a house sat his Grandfathers car, and several others he didn't recognise. This was never a good sign. Nine months ago the entourage had been there to farewell him to Military School.

Hopefully this time is wasn't as life altering.

Moving swiftly into the formal dinning room, Tristan confidently tossed his bag on the long table. He was in his element. It wasn't like he had done anything wrong, unlike other times in his past. Well, he hadn't done anything that wrong recently that needed to be reprimanded from his family anyway.

"Hello brother." echoed the mature voice of Daniel DuGrey as he walked into the dinning room.

For a moment Tristan wondered how he was meant to greet his older brother. They had never been close. The only member in the extended fucked up family Tristan called a friend was his older sister Elspeth, and that had only been a recent development. Knowing her, she was in some country another continent away leaving her favourite brother in the presents of the perfect older son. Daniel smile that toothy smile of his, that smile that apparently charmed his wife into marring him, and waited for his younger sibling to speak.

"Daniel, good to see you. How's Annabelle?" Tristan asked more out of courtesy than interest.

"Ask her yourself. She's in the sun room with mother."

"What's going on?" Tristan asked bluntly the moment the small talk was over, "I saw all the cars outside, and I know I'm not the draw card this time so I'm thinking it's either Elspeth again or Jaylen retiring that hangman robes of his."

Daniel stiffened, it was obvious to Tristan how much Daniel disliked conversing with his brother from this one action, "It's neither. There was a fire on the old DuGrey property. Arson. The original house was burnt to the ground."

"I hated that wreck." Tristan muttered smirking.

"You shouldn't say that around father." Daniel warned crossing his arms over his chest defensively.

"Why? Going to give me a speech about how the DuGrey's migrated from the mother land where they were royalty, and worked there way to the top? I've heard it all before."

"They found a Chilton badge, and a burnt piece of paper with class notes on it. Your year. If I were you I'd think of an alibi before father comes and questions you."

"Even if I did set a match to the hell hole what could he do? It'll start a killer rumor if the DuGrey's youngest, misguided son was suspected of burning his founded fathers house." Tristan leered, his older brother merely stiffened and turned those jade eyes he inherited from their mother to look past his younger sibling.

"Maybe so. But don't think he won't try everything else in the book to get to you."

"I didn't do it so I have nothing to worry about."

"Good, let's just pretend this conversation didn't happen." Daniel stated sharply, ending the conversation with a flourish of rarely seen anger

* * *

It was her first day back from her suspension.

All in all, Rory was getting the hushed whispers and glares she had expected. Paris had eyed off a few more daring people that had come forward to comment of the indiscretion to Rory's face, which Rory was internally grateful for. Walking into the Legal Studies class, she scowled as she saw her normal seat taken, by none other than the spawn Satan himself.

Paris noticed the razor grip her friend had on her battered textbooks and suggested somewhat bluntly that Rory get over it. Paris had moved past her infatuation with Tristan, and now looked upon him as a friend of sorts. But that didn't mean she'd allow him to get in the way of her achieving perfect marks. With Rory worrying about her seat being taken by Tristan it could only lead to distraction.

"Ladies and Gentlemen." Came the voice of the Principal as he walked into the classroom, exuding the out of date power that people only obeyed out of courtesy, never out of respect.

In a rush of blue uniforms and stationary, the class found seats, knowing just how rigorous and austere the ancient Principal could be. Each of them wondered why he was in there class that morning. Some guessed it was about uniforms, others supposed it was about the issue of students driving cars to school and the overcrowded parking lot. The same load of crap teachers rambled on about. But in the seat near the window, Tristan DuGrey knew exactly what the stuffy Principal had ventured out of his den like office to speak about.

The fire on the DuGrey estate.

This knowledge was soon verified as two police officers followed him into the room like vultures following the scent of death.

"Well, students of Chilton, it is not a happy task I have today. Earlier this morning I was notified by the police of an arson attack on a property belonging to the DuGrey family. We have reason to believe this crime was committed by a member of our student body, in particular a member of the senior class."

Taking a look around the room, Tristan eyes fell on the form of Rory Gilmore, only a few desks away. Strangely her normally wide blue eyes were panicky, and her knuckles were white from gripping the edges of her desk. Her porcelain skin appeared pasty and grey. Something was up with that girl and he had the ominous suspicion it may have to do with the unexplained fire.

"I want each student in the class to come forward when I call your name and write this sentence on the board." Ordered the older, more senior looking police officer after he had finished coping what looked like a fragmented sample essay question from a Humanities class onto the black board.

As each student came forward one at a time, Rory seemed to get more and more flustered, and Tristan tried to logically work out what was wrong with her. Rory wasn't the type of person prone to random acts of arson, or anything of the non-illegal variety.

She was seldom naughty.

Rory's idea of rebelling was pretending to be sick so she could stay home and watch a 'Charlie's angel' marathon, and that only happened after her mother had pulled the 'stretch marks from giving birth' card. But given the incident at the assemble his assumptions about the cobalt eyed girl were being revised, and suddenly, he was given a flash of understanding he would have rather lived without.

"Gilmore, Lorelei Leigh." Announced the officer as Gamier, Mark finished copying the question. Looking around the room, the officers eyes fixed on Rory as she shakily stood up, accidentally knocking some pens off her desk, turning bright red as the clattered to the floor.

"Here, uhm, well you know what cause of the fact I stood up, not that I'm second guessing you. I don't second-guess, no, not at all. Okay, so I just have to write that again." She rambled on and on, much to the amusement of everyone in the class.

Tristan's mind returned to the incident in the Assembly once more. He had never seen Rory act like that. Something about her seemed dangerous, and almost scary. Normally these words would seem ill fitting in a sentence containing Rory, but that day, something must have cracked. Tristan remembered in words, sounding so calculated and calming leading swiftly into a trap. Looking at her now he wondered what else she might have done on that fateful day.

* * *

**Next Chp: Linguists **

****

****

* * *

****

****

****

Rory eyed him out of the corner of her eye as his lazily smoked a cigarette, "I don't know if you've changed in Military School. Sometimes you seem . . . and sometimes you don't."

"Seem what?" he asked, cracking a smirk which at any other time would have made her blush and stutter. Leering at her, he whispered into her ear, "Are you trying to tell me something my Mary?"

* * *

Thank you to Belle for helping with this fic.

* * *


	8. Linguists

* * *

Title: Nine Months.

Author: Professional Scatterbrain

Rating: PG - 13

Couple: R/T

Summary: Tristan returns to Chilton, and to the game, but Rory's not playing.

Note: Tristan left later on in Rory's first year at Chilton, so therefore the whole nine-month thing works (a little hint, it's a metaphor for the fic). After Tristan left Rory formed a fledgling friendship with Paris, Louise and Madeline, and by the time senior years rolls up there good friends, well, most of the time at least. Everything that happened with Dean and Jess happened except it happened all before senior year. At the end of the year before Rory told Jess she loved him, and he left suddenly straight afterwards.

I made Chilton darker, because I found the whole picture perfect school depicted on the show nice, yet unrealistic. I tried to model it around my High School, showing the competitiveness, the cruelty, and self delusion within my environment. I go to a girls school though, so the guy thing still might take me a while to work out. Suggestions would be nice as this is my first GG fic.

* * *

**Chp**** 8:**** Linguists**

****

****

* * *

****

It was the afternoon before Rory finally relaxed enough to stop dropping her books whenever someone startled her. Coffee seemed to have the exact opposite effect on her as usual, and it felt like she was on a permanent high that involved her speeding around like someone was chasing her in those crappy B horror films. She felt like a wanted criminal on the verge of getting caught, and the police attendance during that day did nothing to help her frazzled nerves.

"I need to talk to you."

Came the hushed whisper behind Rory's ear, as she packed some books into her bag to take home that night. Jumping, she dropped her school planner and Closed for Winter; a lit book that gave her headaches when she bothered to read it. Mumbling profanities softly, she retrieved the books and squeezed them into her already overfull backpack. It was Tristan. Only he could manage to startle her like that whenever he wanted.

"What about? My bus leaves in 10 minutes so make it quick bible boy." Rory replied snappily, to Tristan as he towered over her, pinning her against the locker with merely his presence.

"I'll drive you home. Tell your mother we're working on our Legal Studies project." He said decisively.

"Lie?" Rory questioned, "No, I'm already on thin ice as it is. Remember that little suspension on my permanent record? It could stop me from getting into Harvard."

Tristan grabbed her backpack out of her hands and spat, "Then think what would happen if you have arson on your criminal record."

Opening her mouth as if trying to say something, Rory was stunned into unwilling silence. How could he know? How could he know anything? Tristan could never understand her, she tried to remind herself, and Rory hated herself when she questioned the statement that she had been repeating over and over in her mind.

"Come on, we'll talk later, where it's safe." he told her, leading Rory to his car.

The drive was filled with silence and quiet thinking. Rory was trying to discover how exactly Tristan had found out about her setting the fire, or if he was merely bluffing. If he was telling the truth Rory knew she needed to go on the defensive quickly, but knowing Tristan, and how he got under her skin, it might be safer to go on the offensive.

Parking the car on the roadside, Rory gulped as she saw the burnt building and the endless stretches of land that she loved. Somehow knowing Tristan's family owned the property, changed her opinion of it, now it just seemed sad, as if it had been abandoned. Seeing Tristan in the landscape made her wonder why he fit so perfectly, in a way that paralleled the way she was so comfortable while on the space of unfilled land.

"So, your family owns this." Rory mumbled following Tristan out of the car, and sitting next to him on the bonnet of the vehicle.

"Yeah, it was the original settlement of the DuGrey family. I'll inherit it someday. My brother was meant to get it but he preferred an increased percentage of the family business." He told her as she looked over the marred piece of land, his eyes distant and untranslatable.

"I didn't know you had a brother." Rory said redirecting the conversation.

Tristan merely grinned, with his eyes reflecting into hers somewhat sadly, "Daniel's a lot older than me. If we're doing twenty questions here, I also have an older sister, Elspeth, another black sheep like me. But unlike me, she avoided the Military School endeavor, and when straight on to some posh English University which she hated. Finished?"

"Nice to know." Rory commented, not knowing exactly how to respond.

"Now, I want you to tell me the truth. I saw how you acted in class today, and innocent people don't act that nervous. Did you play with matches Mary?"

"Nervous? I wasn't nervous. I just don't mesh with law enforcement. After that time Lorelei and I got thrown in jail overnight for a little count of public mayham you'd think it'd be expected for someone to be a little shifty around the choppers, but no, you get all suspicions."

"Answer my question. Did you burn the house?"

"What do you know anyway? Do you have any proof that I did it? No! So mind your own bees wax!"

Tristan jumped off the car bonnet, and pulled Rory towards him, so they were only inches apart. "Look Rory, I've been watching you since the moment I first saw you. I know when something's up with you, and I'm asking you now to tell me the truth."

Rory was too angry to notice he'd called her by her real name, not the one he'd gave her, "What should I tell you? What you want to hear? All so you can go back to your father like a good little trained puppy?"

"Like I would tell my father anything! Not everyone has the picture perfect relationship with their parents like you do. Don't pretend to understand my life." Tristan yelled, his grey eyes turning into cold steel, "I just want to know if you burnt the house down. I'm not going to tell the police or my family or anyone."

"Why?" Rory asked crossing her arms over her chest defensively. The skin of her arms brushed up against the material of his blazer, and she wished she could pull away from him without her actions looking like a weakness she was trying to hide.

"Because I like you alright. I think you're different than everyone I've ever met and even if you hate me forever and never like me-"

Breaking into his answer, Rory mumbled, a little stunned, "I like you Tristan, I would never hate you."

"The thing is, I notice you when you're not around, and I never do that. I know how you act when people are watching, and how you are when people aren't keeping their eyes on you." Tristan ranted, with his eyes showing marinades of emotions that Rory was afraid to read.

He was annoyed with her, that much she got without having to read too deep; he hated the way she made him feel. Or maybe that was what she was feeling reflecting back at her like some demented film of images.

Rory had always thought Tristan's eyes were blank, and closed off, she knew then, in that moment, that she just hadn't known how to read him. There was something that told her that she could trust him, a raw honesty he kept hidden from everyone, something that endured him to her. Something that made up for his cruelty and his disregard for others, something that made him worth her attention, that made her feel like there was something worth being effected by in him.

"The day I was suspended, I drove out here. I was so angry, and out of control, and I got a can of petrel and set fire to the house. I didn't know it belonged to your family, I didn't know any of the history about this place. I just come here when I'm sad or when something bad happens. I'm sorry if my actions hurt you and your family." Rory stuttered, looking down at her hands, playing with her expensive toy of a wristwatch.

Whoever said the truth will set you free lied. It left you uncomfortable and vulnerable. Twisting her hands nervously, Rory avoided looking into Tristan's eyes. She didn't want to see the effect of her words, but at the same time she did. It was like a train crash, and Rory felt like a bystander unable to do anything to prevent it.

After Rory's omission Tristan stopped moving, and his body relaxed, his hands stopped shaking in fury, and his face took on a soft look that made her heart skip a beat without her permission. His eyes found hers, and although she wanted to look away, she couldn't. Smiling a perfect smile, which showed his white straight teeth obviously thanks to thousands in orthodontic bills in his early teens, he seems to be taking her words in, making sense of them, and ordering them to fit into the different sections of his complex mind.

"I always hated that house. It was a metaphor for how my family acted. Leaving there past behind without a thought, so they could move on to a bigger and brighter future." He stated as he took a seat back on the bonnet of the sports car. "But I always like the land around it. It was never landscaped into the fashionable garden of the various times. It was always left to itself. The DuGrey's were never interested in gardening when there was money to be made." He joked as he pulled out a packet of cigarettes.

"Neither are the Gilmore's. But then again, we seem to break that mold." She said, and for a moment she saw his eyes soften.

Rory watched his movements carefully, waiting for the ulterior motive to become apparent, but as time past on, she found herself trusting his word not to use the submission of guilt against her. Unknowingly her words complimented Tristan, just knowing she thought he was different to his family, even without her knowing them, made the weight on his shoulders lesson for a second. He spent half his time being what his parents wanted, and the other half trying to undo the damage of his actions.

"I understand what you mean about this place, it's . . ." she seemed to struggle to find words that wouldn't leave her vulnerable to Tristan's whims, "calming to be here. Something about the wilderness, even this tame variety of it, makes our problems seems meaningless in the long run."

"I came here a lot as a child. But I haven't been here since before I left for Military School." He told her watching her blatantly, not trying to figure her out, just watching her because it felt strange not to.

Rory eyed him out of the corner of her eye as he lazily smoked a cigarette, "I don't know if you've changed in Military School. Sometimes you seem . . . and sometimes you don't."

"Seem what?" he asked, cracking a smirk which at any other time would have made her blush and stutter. Leering at her, he whispered into her ear, "Are you trying to tell me something my Mary?"

Pushing him away, she tried to get her footing back, still not immune to his sexual innuendoes, "You shouldn't smoke. It's a disgusting habit."

Flicking the cigarette away, he grinned a faraway smirk she failed yet again to read, "There are worse habits to have in this world."

"Like what?" she countered challengingly.

Leaning over until they were only inches apart, she felt his breath on her face. Unmoving she watched his eyes, trying to predict what his next move would be. She made no move to pull away, maybe a little infatuated with the charm he exuded over her. Maybe a little more than infatuated.

"I think you're gorgeous and lovely." He told her defiantly as if it was a fact set in stone, "This would be a lot easier if you weren't so stubborn."

Narrowing her eyes, Rory tried to navigate a response. He was confusing, and always changing the rules of engagement on her. With Dean she knew what to say, and even with Jess there were limits, and subjects that were not spoken of. Tristan seemed to discard rules rather than make them, and as he looked at her, his gaze telling her things she wasn't ready to know, she felt like she had jumped into the deep end of the pool and didn't know how to swim. Suddenly, he broke away, with his eyes shining with an emotion that looked vaguely like shame, or something along the lines of regret.

"Sorry." He told her.

"It's okay."

She stated softly, gently, but for what she was forgiving him of she didn't know. Looking down at her hands she tried to think of something that Tristan would want her forgiveness for. But she couldn't discover anything. Tristan wasn't a person that asked for forgiveness. He merely wanted acceptance, never forgiveness. He didn't need it to function, he didn't need to be loved or to be liked, and she could never understand why.

"No it's not. You're still with bag boy, and I know you don't do things like that." He stated, looking over to the dead house; burnt a mournful black, it was as if weeping for its lost importance to a family that had forgotten it.

His words should have surprised her. They should have, but she felt numb as they passed over her. Shock maybe. Or maybe she was giving him too much credit. Rory didn't know how to take his apology. She wondered if this was another scheme or plan to get to her. But she knew somewhere in her mind he didn't work like that. He didn't play the sympathy card, or pretend to be sensitive and caring with her; he was how he was, and he didn't change for people, no matter who they were.

"I'm not with Dean anymore." Rory told him, and not knowing why she added, "I'm not with anyone at the moment."

Smiling once more, Tristan leered, "Wonder how long that will last?"

Letting his comment slide, Rory changed subjects, "Do you want to know a secret?"

Watching the blue eyed girl smile an enigmatic smile, Tristan couldn't say no.

Continuing, Rory slid closer to the blonde haired boy, just close enough to smell the soft scent of his after-shave, and the mix of soap and him that held to his clothes. "You can't tell anyone if I show you."

Tristan bit back a comment he knew would throw her, and instead nodded, agreeing to her terms. Wondering what secret she could possibly have hidden away from the rest of the world. She didn't hide things, or so he once thought. He once believed she was an open book. He believed without a doubt that she would tell her best friend and her mother everything that happened in her little life. But mostly he believed that she was as happy as she seemed from the outside, that she did have that great life that he saw as he looked in. But each moment he was with her, he was starting to understand that what he saw was just that, an act, or maybe a facade she believed in at the most.

Unclasping the Cartier watch on her right wrist, she carefully undid the complex clips and clasps of the elegant piece of jewelry that suited her so well. Finally, she pulled off the watch, and handed her wrist over into his soft hands. Underneath the band of the watch, lay a small, neat tattoo, which ran the length of her underside of her wrist. In blue black ink, it spelled the word, 'Cellar door'.

"Cellar door?"

"A famous linguist once said, that out of all the word in the English language, and all the combinations of words, cellar door was the most beautiful." She told him softly, as he ran his fingers gently over the soft skin at the base of her wrist.

"I didn't think you'd be the type to get a tattoo." He told her, "But it suites you in a way."

He meant what he said.

It did suit her.

It was totally unexpected and he loved it because it shattered any theories he had about her good girl image. She seemed to be made up of all these little parts that contradicted each other all the time, but managed to work together to product a weird fairy princess ideal of a girl he was so attracted to. He wanted her then, more than sexually, which at first, was his only plan for her. But then, as he held her wrist in his hand, feeling the gentle beat of her pulse, he just wanted to stay next to her, just in her presence where things seemed better, where he didn't feel so unpardonable.

"Louise and I got tattoos one night after some party. I never told anyone about it, apart from you." She almost whispered, feeling a little too fragile at that moment for her liking.

"So your mother doesn't know?"

"No, I'm going to tell her when we go to Europe. Say I got it done in some hole in London or something. She's never seen it. Sometimes she sees flashes of it when my watch slips, and if she asks, I just say blood veins or it's a bruise."

"Why are you telling me this then?" he asked lightly, but his touch told her otherwise. "You like me that much now?"

"You have trusting hands." She said with a joking smile telling him to disregard her statement even if it was true, "Maybe you're not as bad as you used to be."

"I'm bad to the bone Mary." He told her in a mock serious tone. "I better take you home now. I don't want your mother to worry."

"I'm with you. I'm pretty sure she's already worrying." Rory laughed as she slipped back inside his car.

* * *

**Next Chp: St Jude.**

****

* * *

****

****

"If I tell you something, you have to promise you won't laugh, or act like Lorelei." Rory said seriously,

Paris smiled, pretty sure she knew how her friend was talking about, "I can't promise you that!"

Smiling a secretive smile that Rory knew would annoy her friend, she replied, "Then I can't tell you."

* * *

Another thank you to Belle for all her help.

* * *


	9. St Jude

* * *

Title: Nine Months.

Author: Professional Scatterbrain

Rating: PG - 13

Couple: R/T

Summary: Tristan returns to Chilton, and to the game, but Rory's not playing.

Note: Tristan left later on in Rory's first year at Chilton, so therefore the whole nine-month thing works (a little hint, it's a metaphor for the fic). After Tristan left Rory formed a fledgling friendship with Paris, Louise and Madeline, and by the time senior years rolls up there good friends, well, most of the time at least. Everything that happened with Dean and Jess happened except it happened all before senior year. At the end of the year before Rory told Jess she loved him, and he left suddenly straight afterwards.

I made Chilton darker, because I found the whole picture perfect school depicted on the show nice, yet unrealistic. I tried to model it around my High School, showing the competitiveness, the cruelty, and self delusion within my environment. I go to a girls school though, so the guy thing still might take me a while to work out. Suggestions would be nice as this is my first GG fic.

Thank you to everyone that reviewed.

* * *

**Chp 9: St Jude **

****

****

* * *

****

After dropping Rory back home, Tristan drove aimlessly around. Arriving home after night had fallen, he examined the house that he had lived in all his life. It was overly expansive, and had an ever-changing beauty that allowed it to alter with the various fashions of the times. Parking his car in the large garage that housed his fathers other toys, Tristan ambled inside the house.

"Hey Soldier boy," called the mocking voice from the north wing of the mansion.

Only one person in his life had the ability to make this large house seem like a home. Abandoning the carefree walk towards his bedroom, Tristan almost sprinted into the unused ballroom his parents insisted to have built in the Victorian house. Moving in a way that contrasted harshly with the image he had created for himself in the outside world, Tristan almost forgot the reason he had that facade to reside in.

Seeing the tall, slate grey-eyed young woman sitting on the edge of the stage, Tristan smiled widely. "Elspeth,"

"Nice to know you still remember my name." She stated as she slipped down off the stage and pulled her brother into a tight hug.

He flinched a little, still not used to the 'family' thing she had going on. But she didn't seem to mind; with a flick of her hair, and a well placed grin, Elspeth was back to her persona; the flicker of regret covered up before the younger sibling could place it, and translate it. She wondered if it was her fault, if she should have protected him. For what she still couldn't articulate. He was bright; shimmering and addictive, dangerous and misplaced, drawing people closer and closer until they got burnt. He was fire and displaced, yet so in control of the world he had been born into, and the world he had long started adapting to fit him.

However it wasn't just Tristan how adapted the world for his needs not the other way around.

She forgot that sometimes.

She had never been as self aware as Tristan, a fact she hadn't comprehended until she saw him at Military School. Defiant and disinterested. He was everything untouchable; leaving people clutching at thin air every time they thought they got close to catching him. No one in that place had a hope in breaking him. What they didn't know, was, that he was broken already, shattered into irreconcilable pieces.

Defiant and Disinterested.

Holding a certain grace and charm unable to comprehend.

Yet, he smirked at her, double daring her to try and keep up with his mirth and hedonism.

"I thought you were still in Egypt," He stated, not questioned, relaxing into his surroundings, owning it in a manor she mirrored.

After all, they were DuGrey's.

DuGrey's never were anything other than in control, holding there power nonchalantly.

It was almost second nature now.

"Yeah, well, I managed to finish ahead of schedule much to everyone's amazement. I decided to come home early. Mother's been calling me consistently, annoying everyone in the office, and Daniel's been sending me all these pompous memos telling me to go home, so I decided to bow to there pressure." She explained with a roll of her. "Also, I though it might be nice to come see my bad seed brother fresh from Military School."

"Why thank you." Tristan leered, dancing eyes teasing and taunting her as he allowed her to throw an arm around his frame and leading him back to the stage where they could sit and talk without interruptions. "Do the parents know you're here?"

Elspeth's eyes gleamed with amusement, "It's a surprise for them."

"Meaning it gives mother no time to set you up with a darling wealthy young man from the country club?"

"Exactly." She nodded, her eyes sparkling with mirth that had once irritated him beyond belief, but now seemed fitting for her, "I was almost afraid I'd come home and find your stint in the teenager version of prison had turned you into Daniel or father."

"That doesn't seem likely. But I did manage to bump up my grades, and win a few medals in swimming and running." He retorted tonelessly, his eyes coving any emotions that might have shown his sister what was really going on inside his mind.

Elspeth was his sister, and somehow she had become a friend, but there were limits. She saw far more than he liked, and had an insight on his life that only another DuGrey could hold. Tristan knew she saw through his reply, but that didn't stop him from pretending she didn't. He wasn't his father, or his brother, But Tristan wondered how long that would last. How long could be himself, or had that too just become another façade. If he was truthful, he could admit, the illusion was one he wanted to believe in, one he needed to keep everything from falling apart.

"Show off." She told him sarcastically breaking the uneasy silence, "Now I'll look like the underachiever in the family."

There was a saying about people laughing so they wouldn't cry.

Something along those lines.

Tristan never remembered how exactly it went.

He didn't want to.

Some things hit too close to home.

So he nudged her, winking in a manor that made her snort without any of her usual grace, and she let the moment go, choosing to wait for his reply rather than dwell on what came before. She too had limits with there new found friendship. She was not a person that could be described as 'nice' or 'sweet,' or anything containing a similar bland sentiment.

She didn't know why she persisted with him, ignoring the cruel, sadistic knowing comments he threw at her each time she visited him at Military School. He mocked her gleefully, bringing her down, and slacking her onto the pavement with one carefully set trap of words, reminding her he was anything but a charity case. She was still learning how to act around him, how to be a friend, how to be a 'good' sister.

But some thing's were learnt too late, and as she looked into his eyes, with there alluding darkness swimming around the glacier irises, she wished she could be 'nice' and 'sweet' for him, so she could have saved him, or at least helped him.

But then he would have just reminded her he wasn't a charity case with his painfully perilous eyes.

But she wished she could have tried anyway.

He was a bright young thing, untouchable and probably purposefully ambiguous in nature. But there and then, in the deserted ballroom, he swept her up in his charm, unaware that she had done the same thing to him. They were alike, too alike, and maybe that was dangerous, but for now, he sat next to her and teased her beguilingly, his eyes burning brightly, amused and everything that could never be articulated perfectly.

"Twenty five and still not married." He quipped, sounding like their mother. "What a pity, Elspeth had so much potential and she wasted it all on pursuing her career."

A sad look flashed into her cold grey looking eyes, "Yes, well, career in the DuGrey business is important."

"Elspeth?" he questioned, worried. He didn't do worried, he had never had too until this point, but something in her tone worried him, and he refused to stay as a bystander watching her break once again.

She was quiet, with a sad sort of aura around her, she troubled her friends and family in a way they just couldn't quite put their finger on. She has a sad, ethereal beauty she inherited from their mother, while Tristan had the blonde, charismatic looks of his father, yet they were the same, it was just Tristan was better at acting than she was. Tristan never used to think much about her, all she used to be to him was a sister he wished that had never existed, but now that had all changed.

"I'm alright. You don't have to worry." She told him unconvincingly, "Fathers proud of the work I do, and Grandfathers is too."

"I'm proud of you, but not for closing some deal or winning some contract, just for being you." He told her after a minute of silence.

He hated the words the moment they left his mouth, but she smiled slightly, pausingly, and her eyes flickering over his face, making it worth the state of vulnerability he was left in. She didn't push it, nor did she do anything else; she too was as uncomfortable as he.

"Same for you." She told him smiling awkwardly, obviously unused to praise. "Moving on. How's your love life?"

"Ah, the question all singles hate." Tristan quoted.

"How's the girl? You asked her out yet?" she prompted knowingly.

There was always a girl Elspeth had learned early on. Tristan seemed to draw attention wherever he went. Elspeth, when she was younger used to sit, and watch him magnetise and allure everyone around him. Tristan could get people eating out of his palm then snap their necks when they weren't watching. He could make them feel safe then use them to the point they were unrecognisable. She remembered being afraid of what he was being allowed to become, but now she only understood she was seeing another version of herself in him. She too was aloud to become a person that she sometimes hated, but Tristan never seemed to see that in himself. He reviles in the power, and someday Elspeth knew he'd lose everything because of his addiction.

The downfall had, and looked like it would always be a girl named Rory Gilmore. Elspeth didn't know much about her. Rory was just a name to her, another girl from Chilton society, another Gilmore heir. But somehow she meant more than that to Tristan. To him, she was a puzzle he wanted to figure out but never could. To him, she was worth the risk of being a victim of her whims. To Tristan, Rory was his strength and his weakness, and in continuing his interest in her meant she could mean the world to him if she'd let him.

"How'd you know if I even like Rory still?" he questioned her, evenly.

He didn't get flustered, nor did he blush; merely he peered into her eyes, asking her, questioning her, defying her to continue with the line of conversation. Just to see if she had the cheek, the nerve to gamble on the limits they had put in place.

She leaned back, her hand resting on the stage, supporting her weight as she examined him, finally concluding something he was no where near realising for himself, "Tristan, I know you. Rory is the only girl that's ever gotten under your skin. You'll always have a thing for her, even when you're old and senile."

Then she laughed, shortly, allowing the noise to travel over the empty cavernous room.

This stopped Tristan from taking it seriously.

Or at least attempted too.

Instead he turned the conversation around on her; skilfully redirecting the line of fire, "Really. Do you have a guy like that?"

Looking away, she frowned for a second before slipping a mask back over her face, "Aiden Jude." She admitted, but it was what she left unsaid that Tristan understood more fully. Elspeth's serious gaze, told him what her words lacked, 'Luckily, although he may share the same first name as father dearest, he is nothing like the head of our little family.'

"Like St Jude, the saint that looks after the lost?" he questioned, his mind reminiscing back to the Sunday School classes he had been forced to attend at his Grandfathers command.

That had all stopped once Janlan had handed over power of the corporation to him son Aiden.

Aiden had got what he wanted, and he didn't bother keeping up the charade.

"Yeah." She muttered, absentmindedly running a hand through her hair, "Tall, green eyes, and dark black brown hair. Smart as a tack, and with a moral compass that matches it. Not very fond of the whole me working for a multi national corporation. But back to the subject at hand. I think you should ask Rory out."

"What makes you think she'll accept this time?" he questioned playfully, her logic his mind forming plans that could never exist with his heart beating them out as each breath left his lungs. "What makes you think I want to ask her out?"

She looked at him, answering the second question with an arched eyebrow, then articulating the first question carefully, "I don't know what she'll say if you ask, but you shouldn't give up after one rejection."

"I'm not." He replied, half wanting to tell her why he was going after Rory, half knowing she already knew that reason and was daring him to find another, awkwardly, he added, "I just think I have to become her friend first."

"Good for you." She retorted sarcastically, obviously knowing there were vast differences in his definition of 'friends' and an average person's definition. "Now, I better get going. Unfortunately this is only an overnight stop for little old me. I have to be in Milan tomorrow. I'll be leaving after the family dinner."

"Coming home for Christmas this year?"

Tristan was used to his sisters hectic work schedule. She had been working for the DuGrey Corporation since leaving University. It was expected of her. But it wasn't like she didn't deserve her position. She worked harder than anyone else, always having some need to prove herself to everyone. She didn't believe in breaks, and preferred to work constantly, moving from on project to another with always hastening speed.

In some ways, Aiden trusted her more than the perfect heir Daniel.

In some ways, even the chauvinistic Janlan trusted her more than the perfect heir Daniel.

But not all.

"Promise" she answered, then continuing with a goading tone, "And, the moment you ask Rory to come home and meet the family, I'll be on the first plane back no matter what. I'll have to meet this girl that's got you wound around her little finger." Her eyes twinkled, and Tristan recalled the way she used to draw guys to her without even knowing.

"I'm not whipped." He told her squarely, leaving no room for doubt.

"You so are boy."

* * *

The next few days inside the jail like walls of Chilton pasted without distinction. Tristan stayed with his friends, and Rory made herself at home in the library trying to study. It was during one of Rory's study sessions, Paris found her. Holed up surrounded by flashcards and tatty notes Rory looked like the average frazzled senior student.

"Stop being stupid." Paris stated matter of factually as she picked up a pile of flash cards examining them intently for a second, then dismissing them in a flourish.

"Hey! I'm not stupid, look at all the books. I learn." Rory muttered irritated.

Studying was good. Studying kept her out of trouble. Studying would take her far. All she had to do was keep her head in those books and past mistakes wouldn't be repeated. All sayings that she had heard over and over, like a broken record. But today, she knew she was just hiding. Hidden in forced hibernation, away from the slate eyed boy who was figuring out far too much about her. Paris noticed the pause in her friend, seeing everything Rory hid, and for a second Paris would have allowed Rory to stay in her self committed isolation, but only for a second. Girls like them weren't meant to hide from the world.

Why are you in here?" Paris asked, but it was one of those questions that she didn't expect an answer for, continuing she nailed her point in, "I had to spend lunch listening to Louise and Madeline talking about the tragic return of the off the shoulder shirt. Are you happy seeing me in pain?"

"I didn't feel like sitting with you and the extended 'it' group now Louise is dating Matt DuGrey." Rory replied, somewhat truthfully.

"Like it'll last." Paris snorted unladylike, then her face softened, "It's James and Giles isn't it?"

Squirming uncomfortable under Paris gaze, Rory tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. It wasn't just them, but she let Paris believe what she wanted. It saved Rory having to answer questions she didn't have answers for. A talent she had nurtured over the years of being the satirically 'saving grace' of the mistake her mother made on the balcony with the absent man that occasional took on the role as Rory's father.

Christopher.

They had the same eyes.

People thought she had the eyes of her mother, and most of the time the link could be believed, but when her father was around, it was a different matter. Cobalt eyes shared between generation. He might have been a good father. She might have been a father's girl for him instead of merely a mother's daughter. She wondered what might have been different if Lorelei ran away with the cobalt eyed boy eighteen years ago. She wondered what might have happened if Lorelei told him where she was going on that day the last name was put in the coffin of 'good' family relations. She wondered if she would have had another role to play, one not as a 'saving grace' but as a . . . she didn't know what other role she could have played. Maybe a just teenage girl; nothing extraordinary about her, just a teenage girl.

That could have been nice.

It could have been her.

But it wasn't, so she turned her head down to her tattered copy of literature notes, acting flustered and shy, a mix of emotions she wasn't ready to show the original versions of. Paris could believe what she wanted to believe. They all could do that. But more often than not, Paris saw through the act, and Rory hoped today wasn't one of those days.

"I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking." Paris apologised, her composed face flickering with guilt and sadness as she thought of the girl Paris saw in that bathroom begging for her secret to be kept, "Are you doing alright, I mean, with everything?"

"My shoulders almost healed. It's not purple anymore, just a bluish colour."

Paris rolled her hazel eyes, "That's not what I asked."

Sighing, Rory knew it was easiest to tell Paris the truth. They both were too skilled in reveling only what they wished too, and redirecting conversations, to ever be able to deceive each other. In another time they might have hated each other for this, but now it only irritated them that they could see too much without permission.

"When did stuff get so screwed up? Last year I was doing fine, no suspensions, no scary prep school guys after my blood, no criminal activity, no rebellion to speak of, and teachers liked me." Rory found herself spilling out.

Calmly, Paris replied, "Do you remember last year, the whole Dean/Jess fiasco and how hurt you were? Then there was Chilton, and your mother's off again on again romance with the English teacher. You're not the only one with problems. Jamie and I broke up, my parents are yet again on another business trip and I'm stuck living with my Grand Aunt Bella, who spends her time ordering me around while flirting with the pool cleaner. Another awful cliché come to life just to annoy the hell out of me. But if you want to look at in retrospect, I think we're doing quite well this year."

"You know you could always stay with me or Madeline." Rory once again offered but Paris shock her head. Paris wouldn't accept anything she considered charity. Somehow staying with Rory or Madeline (staying with Louise was out of the question) fell into that box.

"Anyway, what's going on with you? If you don't tell me, I'll ask your mother, and you know how loose her tongue is after she gets the coffee," Paris mock warned.

"Promise you won't go psycho on me. I talked to Tristan." Rory told her, and then looked away, waiting for the fireworks to start.

"Why should that bother me? I'm over him, thus the whole Jamie thing happened, leaving me probably lusting after him not Tristan. Tristan is more a friend type for me, even if we were dating, it wouldn't work out, he needs someone other than me that sees through his bullshit," Paris said idly.

Rory looked into Paris eyes, she was speaking the truth, or at least what she really felt. Something about Paris seemed calmer, more in control since they had first meet back on Rory's horrid first day. Paris had changed, compared to everyone else inhabiting these hallowed halls she had already left the game, moving on to another phase of her life.

"Do you like him?" Paris asked, her eyes searching Rory's, trying to see past the obvious denial that the brunette used whenever things were hitting too close to home.

"No." Rory answered shortly. Her tone too abrupt and direct for her answer to be true.

"So what? Are you friends now?" Paris questioned, appeasing Rory for her sake.

"I don't know, I guess. It's weird, I trust him and I don't know why." Rory finally admitted.

Paris nodded knowingly, "People trust him, even when they shouldn't. Not that I'm saying you shouldn't, I mean he likes you, so it's not like he'll use it as part of his game."

"If I tell you something, you have to promise you won't laugh, or act like Lorelei." Rory said seriously,

Paris smiled, pretty sure she knew how her friend was talking about, "I can't promise you that!"

Smiling a secretive smile that Rory knew would annoy her friend, she replied, "Then I can't tell you."

"That's not fair."

"Life isn't fair."

Giving up finding out anything Rory didn't want to tell, Paris stood, "Come outside, I'll introduce to nature and sunshine." Rory gave Paris a weird look making the blonde grin roguishly, "God Ror, you've been spending way too much time inside."

"I can't believe you're the one saying that," Rory muttered as the girl in question dragged her outside.

* * *

**Next Chp: Power play **

* * *

"Of course it's your fault!" Rory cried nonsensically, "I don't normally act like this! You can't do this to me,"

"So you acting irrational is all because of me?" Tristan smirked assuredly, like a man who had the world at his feet, with endless options suddenly open to him.

The power shifted with his comment, and Rory wanted it back.

* * *

Belle, thank you yet again for helping with this fic and braving through my creative spelling and use of grammer ;)

* * *


	10. Power play

* * *

Title: Nine Months.

Author: Professional Scatterbrain

Rating: PG - 13

Couple: R/T

Summary: Tristan returns to Chilton, and to the game, but Rory's not playing.

Note: Tristan left later on in Rory's first year at Chilton, so therefore the whole nine-month thing works (a little hint, it's a metaphor for the fic). After Tristan left Rory formed a fledgling friendship with Paris, Louise and Madeline, and by the time senior years rolls up there good friends, well, most of the time at least. Everything that happened with Dean and Jess happened except it happened all before senior year. At the end of the year before Rory told Jess she loved him, and he left suddenly straight afterwards.

I made Chilton darker, because I found the whole picture perfect school depicted on the show nice, yet unrealistic. I tried to model it around my High School, showing the competitiveness, the cruelty, and self delusion within my environment. I go to a girls school though, so the guy thing still might take me a while to work out. Suggestions would be nice as this is my first GG fic.

* * *

****

** Chp 10: Power Play **

****

****

****

****

****

****

****

****

****

****

****

****

****

****

****

****

****

****

****

****

****

****

****

****

****

****

****

****

****

****

****

****

****

****

****

****

****

****

****

****

****

****

****

****

****

****

****

****

****

****

****

* * *

Grey skies, with black silhouettes of trees and power lines greeted Lorelei as she arrived home at about 6pm. Spotting the shinny new car parked nearby, Lorelei grimaced a little with the knowledge that Tristan inside her home. Lately, he always seemed to find ways to be around her daughter, but the intriguing thing was, Rory wasn't complaining. Curiously, Lorelei quietly made her way towards the house, cursing as her heels sunk into the soft ground. Hobbling a little, she managed to regain her balance, and peeking into the windows, she watched her daughter smile, and talk animatedly with Tristan who seemed to be communicating just as lively as she was. Rory's face was lit up, and Lorelei watched her daughter flip her long hair over her shoulder.

"Basic flirting; the hair flick," Lorelei commented like a documentary maker watching a rare breed of animal, "The boy replies by drooling uncontrollably."

Lorelei didn't exactly like Tristan, more like she put up with him, while she hated him in silence. He had made her daughter miserable during the first time they had gone to school together. That in her book, put a irreversible mark against his name. But here, now, Lorelei watched her daughter smiling, and joking, even flirting a little, seeming happy. Lorelei hadn't seen Rory like this since before the Jess leaving drama oh so many months ago.

But Tristan wasn't the sort of guy she wanted for Rory.

He came from the same world as she did, but he, unlike Lorelei, didn't plan on leaving it. He excelled in society, in the world where power plays controlled his attention, forcing him to inhabit a life made up of tactics and games. He could become anything he wanted. That was the one thing Lorelei understood from the moment she met him. Dean and Jess were nothing compared to him, they would only achieve some mediocre life, probably marry the first girl that stayed around long enough to be asked, then live a life knowing nothing of what Tristan had right at his finger tips. Tristan could, and would, achieve anything, and Lorelei knew that how widely 'anything' applied to in his world. He could get, and have, anything he wanted. What worried Lorelei was she knew what he wanted; he wanted her daughter, and he would get her, sooner or later.

Sooner or later.

The fateful words that plagued Lorelei.

Sooner or later

"Girl flashes back of left wrist at boy. Boy attracted by sudden reflection of light." Lorelei continued, completely lost to how she was meant to act in the presented situation. She didn't know if she should burst in, stopping anything that might be happening, or wait and watch to see what Rory would do.

To watch and see just how well she knew her only daughter.

But the thing was, Lorelei was beginning to doubt just how well she knew her mini me.

Leaving her position at the window, she silently moved her way to the front door, as her only child contentedly conversed with the handsome blonde boy who was clearly charming her. Opening the always unlocked door, she meticulously tiptoed into the room, stopping suddenly as Rory leaned over, and lightly, pulled Tristan into a fleeting kiss.

One of Rory's hands lay on his neck, on his pulse, and Lorelei watched Tristan freeze for a second in the aftermath of Rory's action. Something about the way Rory's hand, lying, ever so gently, on his pulse point, was far to intimate; far to close for Lorelei, and as she struggled to breathe, she noticed that Tristan too was struggling to comprehend the same intimate action. His eyes focused on the cobalt eyed girl, straining to see her motives, but after a second, he relaxed, obviously seeing far more than Rory would have preferred.

Backing out of the house, Lorelei figured this was a good time to leave. She's didn't want to do the 'Emily barging in on the daughter kissing a boy' routine. That role was one her mother played to perfection, and Lorelei fought everyday not to slip into it, like the forgotten animals sinking into the tar pits. Painful as it was, Lorelei knew, somehow, as much as she wanted to believe otherwise, that this was Rory's choice, and Rory had to be allowed to make it by herself.

She would return home in half an hour Lorelei decided, which though sounding reasonable, seemed far easier to promise, than to actually follow through with. The thing that gave her the ability to get into her jeep and start the engine, was the fact that although she didn't trust Tristan, Lorelei did trust Rory. But that logic only applied in there rainbow and puppy tail past, and Lorelei was left wondered if she made the right choice.

She hated wondering that about Rory.

Her beautiful, puppy tail and rainbow Rory.

But she had to believe that she trusted her daughter unconditionally. She had to believe that Rory would need time to work out what the kiss meant without the help of her mother, because if Lorelei didn't, everything Emily told her about Rory would be true, and Lorelei couldn't have that.

She could never cope with that knowledge keeping her awake every night.

* * *

In the chaotic living room, Rory broke away from Tristan, his soft lips imprinted forever in her memory. His faint scent still fresh in her mind. His eyes glittered and danced in the light, but his expression was serious as he examined her, waiting for her to speak.

The air seemed charged with something was far from innocent.

Tristan's present's in her home seemed out of place, and only served to illustrate how she no longer fitted into the life her mother had made for her. She wanted him to leave, so that maybe then she could go back to the person people liked, but if he left, she felt like she'd lose the ability to be something other than what she was. She needed to know that she could be that something else. She needed it to remind her that what people saw everyday wasn't just what she was.

"Uhm . . ." Rory trailed off, suddenly uncomfortable, when only moments ago it had been the exact opposite.

His eyes took her in.

He didn't pretend to look at her in the sweet way Dean did, or the satisfied way Jess would.

He just stared at her, his eyes telling her how he'd just gotten what he spent so much time wanting. His hands were still on her back she realised. He didn't move to remove them, as if telling her he wasn't going to let her make excuses or find a simple way out of this.

Nothing with Tristan was simple.

He was anything but uncomplicated.

"Don't look at me like that." He told her, "Don't try and rationalise this into some form of denial that makes it easy."

"I kissed you." Rory stated quietly, as if to remind herself of her actions, and to remind herself that they were not only his.

He moved away from her then, but he spoke to her instead. His eyes, dark, dangerous, leading her into places she had avoided all her life. He was the person that would take her from the protected innocence's' to something she either wasn't ready for or was long over due for. His mere presents made her feel like a liar, as if she was a fraud and a fake, and that he wanted her anyway.

That he would always want her.

"I want you, and I know you feel something or you wouldn't have kissed me."

She knew then, not for the first time, but maybe to the fullest extent just how he wanted her. He wanted in ways she'd never even allowed herself to consider with her other boyfriends. He wanted her, and she was too frail and weak to his desire to withstand him. She was drawn to him, he was unstable and far from perfect. He couldn't be the pure sweet and kind, or anything that her mother wanted for her daughter. Lorelei would hate Rory for choosing Tristan, but the decision looked like it had already been made long ago.

Flashing her eyes at him angrily, she spat, "Of course I feel something! Are you stupid? Every time I see you my heart skips a beat without my authority, and I can't breathe properly, and it's all your fault."

"My fault?" Tristan questioned totally unprepared for her words.

Everything was spinning out of control around them. Tristan let it; he let himself be amused by her reaction, and darkened by how they were moving into uncharted space. He didn't try to make it easier for her. He wouldn't let her make this into something she could understand. He couldn't let her choose the easy path, which in the past, she had always done so. She was lovely and misunderstood, Tristan felt her weaken as he looked on.

He felt himself weaken too as he looked back into those cobalt eyes he had followed with interest since meeting her at sixteen. The sweet sixteen he had never managed to be. The sweet sixteen that maybe even Rory had never managed to achieve either. He knew she wanted him, and more than that, he knew how much it scared her. She didn't like being afraid, and if he didn't step carefully she would run.

"Of course it's your fault!" Rory cried nonsensically, "I don't normally act like this! You can't do this to me,"

"So you acting irrational is all because of me?" Tristan smirked assuredly, like a man who had the world at his feet, with endless options suddenly open to him. Maybe he was that man, at least according to everyone else's perceptions of him anyway.

The power shifted with his comment, and Rory wanted it back.

Leaning over, Rory closed the gap, and kissed him fervently. He replied with the same passion, breaking away a few moments later to allow her to breathe. Then, almost tenderly, Tristan slid his lips along her jawbone, then finding her lips again, he kissed her. Gently. Slowly. Leisurely. Making her light headed and dizzy as he held her in a way that neither of them were yet ready to understand. His kiss held heat and promise, his tongue gliding over her bottom lip, tasting, teasing, until she opened her mouth to him.

Breathless, the broke apart a few minutes later.

Tristan head was spinning, he still had the taste of her in his mouth it was indescribable. Almost like a lime lifesaver mixed with a gardenia . . . both sweet and sour at the same time. Her hair was ruffled, and he felt the urge to smooth in. Somehow he knew it was important not to do anything without her permission as if might scare her off.

"Maybe it's not totally your fault then . . ." she mumbled, her wide cobalt eyes hazy and glassy.

"After that, you still blame me?" Tristan joked quietly.

To him everything seemed to fragile and breakable, and while he was out of control; half out of his mind he feared that at any second he could and probably would screw it up with her. It just was new to him not being on sure footing with a girl he wanted. But then again, Rory had never been just another girl. She refused to let him put her in a category or section he could easily figure out.

But did he want to figure her out?

This time he made the first move, taking his time to slowly kiss her. Breaking away, he looked back to see her reaction but she just smiled softly this time. He took it as an approval and leaned in again this time with a little more force as she opened her mouth to allow him more access. His tongue slipped in immediately but before he could deepen it, he pulled back, not wanting to rush her.

"So I might like you." Rory told him stubbornly.

"I guess that's good enough for now." Tristan stated his eyes once again unreadable.

He couldn't describe what he felt for her as simply liking her. It sounded too diluted for him to convey what he felt. He wanted her, his want making something about his actions seem uncalculated. He wasn't being careful. In making her lose her control, he had lost his. That dangerous reaction at another time, with another girl, would have warned him, but at that moment, his responses were on mute, and he was on his own.

Only in the aftermath that was sure to follow, he'd learn the full damages of his uncalculated risk.

* * *

The corridors of Chilton seemed wide and open to Tristan as he made his way to her locker. Her, as in Rory. He didn't know what he should do around her. Theoretically, he knew the way he should go about this. He should ask her for a date. Something impressive. Expensive and romantic; that overused deal. He'd charm her mother, even though she hated him. He'd make her small borderline hick town adore him while grinding his teeth in excoriation. Then Rory would, sooner or later, be his girlfriend.

That was the way people in her would expect her to be courted.

But that seemed too run of the mill for her.

She would be out of place in that sort of arrangement, and so would he.

From his experience he'd take her to a Chilton Party. She'd be his date, and then after leaving with her, she'd be his girlfriend. She'd be accepted as part of the crowd he ran with. People would soon forget how she was a loner, and how she only had three friends at Chilton. They would accept her as one of them, knowing that he had made her into one of them.

Another bright young thing, part of the young set.

He was meant to say at this point, how she was better than that.

But he wanted her to be part of his crowd. To have her in janitors' closets between classes, to push her up against her locker, and make her moan his name while others watched on, wanting her but knowing they'd never stand a chance.

It was all about want, and he wanted her. He couldn't just have a crush on her; he couldn't take things as slowly as her mother would want. He knew that her being with him would damage her image, not in ways the Chilton students would understand, but in ways that people in Stars Hollow would hate him for.

But that wouldn't stop him.

"Spawn of Satan." She stated in greeting, surprising him out of his thoughts. Seeing that look of his she reprimanded preemptively, "Don't say Mary. Call me Rory and I'll give you a gold star."

"You know, if you're right about the spawn of Satan thing, that would make my father the devil, Magdalene my dear," he stated lazily, more interested with playing with her hair than acknowledging the truth he had spoken, even as a jest.

Looking at him, with those cobalt eyes of hers, she looked like she wanted to say something. He didn't want to deal with any of her self-righteous crap at that moment, so he leaned closer to her, placing kisses on her neck, more than pleased when she didn't push him away. But listening to his head, he stopped himself from throwing her up against her locker just like in his newly formed fantasies. In his restraint, Tristan berated himself for his control, only knowing he didn't want to embarrass her as he was sure to do if too many people started looking on. A few were already, and with a satisfied last bite on the base of her throat, he knew by the end of the day everyone would know about the new development.

Her eyes now looked dizzy to him, and she spoke in tone that parallel them, "Why can't you be normal and learn my name?"

"Cause that would take the fun out it," he leered, feeling her nerves tensing unsure whether to fall back into there routine or start a new one. It looked like she didn't know a new one had already started.

"You know, not many people could get away with calling there girlfriend a slut." She stated.

There.

It had been settled.

She was his girlfriend, and he was her boyfriend.

No need for dates, or game tactics.

They had unknowingly found a compromise.

With that one word, gossip would start, and Tristan wouldn't make one move to control it. Unlike Rory, he could influence people, making them keep their mouths shut. More than a few people were under his control from this talent. But he wanted people to know, not only that he had gotten her, but for some reason he wanted to make sure people didn't think of her as another one-night stand. She couldn't be seen as the fallen Ice Queen, with people laughing at how it had only taken the King of Chilton a few months since returning from exile to get what he wanted.

He didn't want that for her.

He couldn't understand that, nor on second evaluation, did he care to understand that.

Taking the books from her hands, he felt like he was playing a role out of his character. She notice as well, and in that sarcastic way of hers that she reserved for him alone, she stated, "Are you going to bring me coffee each morning too bible boy? Or is this all American nice guy thing only going to cover carrying my books?"

He leered at her, relieved to be dismissed from that facade, "I always suspected you'd be the type of girl that liked it rough. If I'd know good girls could be this much . . . fun I would have started this a lot sooner,"

His lewd comment struck her, making her see the discord between the role he was playing for her, and her person he was. She let him go back to who he was, mainly because she liked him more that way. She couldn't bullshit around him, it didn't mean she didn't try, all it meant was he saw through it all. He was volatile, and as she took her new place by his side she knew at any moment he could bring everything they were starting crashing down on them.

He was the sort of boy you couldn't take your eyes off for one moment.

The thing was, she didn't care to test that statement.

She, although she denied it, was more than content to watch the glittering slate eyed boy.

* * *

**Chp 11: Priorities**

* * *

"I don't care what you said to her," Tristan started. His tone was indifferent, and so was his stance, but that only made him more authoritative compared to now stiffly composed Giles.

"Then why the slap over the wrist?" Giles lampooned brusquely, "I didn't know you took it on yourself to educate me on manors. I thought I had that down pat."

* * *

Thank you to everyone that has reviewed this fic, I hope you enjoyed this chp.

* * *

Once again I'd like to thank Belle, for her appreciated help and guidance.

* * *


	11. Priorities

* * *

Title: Nine Months.

Author: Professional Scatterbrain

Rating: R

Couple: R/T

Summary: Tristan returns to Chilton, and to the game, but Rory's not playing.

Note: Tristan left later on in Rory's first year at Chilton, so therefore the whole nine-month thing works (a little hint, it's a metaphor for the fic). After Tristan left Rory formed a fledgling friendship with Paris, Louise and Madeline, and by the time senior years rolls up there good friends, well, most of the time at least. Everything that happened with Dean and Jess happened except it happened all before senior year. At the end of the year before Rory told Jess she loved him, and he left suddenly straight afterwards.

I made Chilton darker, because I found the whole picture perfect school depicted on the show nice, yet unrealistic. I tried to model it around my High School, showing the competitiveness, the cruelty, and self delusion within my environment. I go to a girls school though, so the guy thing still might take me a while to work out. Suggestions would be nice as this is my first GG fic.

* * *

**Chp 11: Priorities **

****

* * *

She started sitting with his friends sometimes.

Only sometimes.

Most of the time, it was only when Madeline or Louise was with her. It was Madeline that Rory always sat close to. Louise's priorities changed when she was with these people; maybe Rory's did as well. On a good day, when she was at the peak of her game, she'd sometime come without the protection of her friends. It was during those times she might allow Tristan to put his arm around her waist, and she would bicker with the people he surrounded himself with, not letting them get what they wanted.

Today wasn't one of those days, and she had reluctantly joined him, only conceding after Madeline, Louise and Paris joined her at the bequest of the slate eyed boy. He should have known then how she wasn't up to fighting off the consequences of the game, but he didn't, too infatuated with how much control he believed he had over his friends to see the truth.

Truth?

She spent her life as if she was flying; one moment she was soaring, the next, she was hurtling to the ground. Today was one of the days when she would hit the ground at full force. He couldn't have seen it coming, but it was during this one hour, this one lunch time, he began to understand just what it meant to be with her, and the extent to which it effected him.

In the glittering circles of bright young things, boys with sparkling teeth leered dangerously at each other. Disinterested girls, with long legs emerging from skirts that were so calculatedly short, half way between slutty and sexy, sat interlaced with the anything but darling boys. From her view point, Rory watched the latest addition slide up to the other blonde blue haired boy whom owned the same surname as Tristan. As if walking a tight rope, the girl, used the momentum to swing her hips, knowing that more than Matt's attention was focused on her. Glancing away, Rory drifted.

On days like this, it was best to fade into one of the many shades of grey.

On day like these she stayed away from people like the ones surrounding her. She saw too much of herself in them sometimes. An edge a girl like her wasn't meant to have. Lorelei gave them all names, satirising them, bringing down to her level so she could forget that she was just like them at sixteen. Maybe Lorelei still was dealing with that knowledge. Maybe. But as Rory sat, allowing the other members of the young set to fill the collected attention span with sadistic quips and meaningless words, she wondered if years later she'd be still trying to convince herself that she was different.

But on days like this she should have paid better attention to the many leering boys who watched her out of the corner of there eyes.

Should have . . . Famous last words or yet another cliché to add to the mounting pile.

"What's it like working as a maid?" Giles asked, his tone somewhat sharper than he would have normally used in Tristan's presents.

Her head snapped up, coiling to his barbed words. Large, deceptively wide blue eyes examined the other boy. Giles, although being another understudy in the game, was a boy teetering on the edge between control and chaos. By her side, Tristan, half turned away from her, joked crudely with his chosen supporting cast of beautiful faces. Distracted, he hadn't noticed what the other contender for power stated. Did Paris notice? Rory was sure Louise noticed, but her reaction was compromised. Rory knew what Giles did for Louise, and how he acted as the only person immune to using her. Rory also knew what this meant to the pretty hazel eyed girl. Madeline didn't notice, that was for sure, if she did, everyone would have had their attention focused on the two now engaged in a staring contest.

Contest . . .

A battle that made up the many wars.

Taking her time, Rory retorted with the illusion of calm, "I wouldn't expect a daddy's boy to understand. Unless that day at work experience actually had you doing something other than nailing the cute mail girl in the photocopier room."

Giles just smiled at her, showing off those perfect teeth of his. His face was relaxed, knowing that he was in his element and she was most obviously not. Home ground advantage? Or maybe a professional facing off against an amateur. Well . . . that was what he liked believing anyway. Crossing his arms over his broad chest, she was reminded of the strength he was capable of. Unlike Tristan, who made sure not to intimidate her, Giles used this supposed power to try and dominate her, telling her without words, just where her place was in this chosen society.

"I guess you're right, but there are people more suited to serving others, aren't they," he taunted.

Tristan noticed then. He would have liked to say he noticed her body tense or he felt the shift in the conversation around him, but instead it was Louise, giving him one of those looks. One of those looks that made him glance at Rory just to remind himself that he was with her, and not in the position to go after any other pretty face. Maybe that was Louise compromise; maybe that was her belated choice. A choice, which in final evaluation meant little.

She had yet to make that definitive decision, in reality it wasn't until she had to decide would finally choose what she wanted.

Meanwhile, Tristan caught Giles' eyes. The now corned boy didn't look guilty, nor did he try and look away. Giles met Tristan's intense gaze head on; another battle for power. There were too many for Rory to count as she looked on. She didn't like someone else fighting her battles, first it was her mother, then her grandparents, and now Tristan, neither of the three knew what they were doing to her.

Conversation continued around them, and slowly Giles backed down, shooting Tristan a strategically ridicules smile that attempted to smooth the ripple in there friendship. Pulling Rory closer than she would normally let him hold her in public, he gave Giles a message in his concise actions, later they would speak about what Giles did.

Later.

* * *

In the parking lot lining the perimeter of the school, the two brilliant boys met.

They were mostly alone. Mostly. Surrounded by cars from all those glossy motor sports magazine pages they were isolated. The imported metallic coloured machine stared deadly at them. Each badge embossed with the name of yet another pricy brand, represented a car bought only to showcase there family names wealth. All bought to try and give the contenders some advantage in the game. All supposedly playing a role of the competition their owners were part of.

All the younger set.

In the end, they were all bought by parents merely to illustrate there power to other members of the upper bank balance society.

The others that had surrounded the two treacherously alluring boys that lunchtime had left for classes, and if the two actually cared, it would occur to them that they'd be late for those same classes if they weren't careful.

Careful?

The word struck a discord with the situation around them. It sounded ironic when compared to what was going on between the two young men. Tristan was meant to be the dominate one, the alpha of the bright young things, with Giles as yet another understudy; another beautiful face lacking the background to get the place Tristan always held.

Yet that didn't stop Giles or his contemporaries, from trying to steal Tristan's station in there hierarchy.

"I don't care what you said to her," Tristan started. His tone was indifferent, and so was his stance, but that only made him more authoritative compared to the now stiffly composed Giles.

"Then why the slap over the wrist?" Giles lampooned brusquely, "I didn't know you took it on yourself to educate me on manors. I thought I had that down pat."

Tristan smiled a smile that anyone watching would have misinterpreted, and stated in that calmly alienating tone of his, "Then I don't have to tell you not to-"

"Not to what?" Giles interjected, an interested look spreading over his face, "The Ice Bitch already got you whipped?"

Later, when Tristan looked back with the insight of time, he understood that this was a defining moment, it was when things started to change in the carefully organised hierarchy of the young set of his society. It was when he had to decide. The decision was so simple, yet the impact of either choice was far more complex. A complexity that was best left as another subject untouched and off limits. Smarter that way, simpler too.

"Don't speak to Rory if you can't play nice." He ordered in such a detach manor that left Giles in no confusion to the threat that was left unarticulated.

Many things were left unarticulated in this glittering world.

Unarticulated statements of intention filtered dangerously through the air.

Most of them would be abrasively put aside after a given time.

But none of them would be forgotten.

Wounds could be licked, but facts could never be erased from existence.

"What's with you and that girl? Why can't you just fuck her and get it over with?" Giles argued bluntly, "Why the hell are you acting like some prized boyfriend to her? She's just a frigid little teachers pet."

"Don't," was all Tristan could manage without lashing out.

Don't . . .

Another threat, but one that was articulated.

A mistake perhaps.

Another perhaps . . .

Then he left the parking lot and Giles behind. He wanted to see Rory, to feel her bend under his touch, to regain some of the control she seemed unconsciously bent on taking from him. She was in class. He knew that without needing to question the fact. Rory didn't miss classes, especially after any sort of confrontation. She liked to retreat into a world strictly built on rules and knowledge, a place where she excelled. He didn't care what had gone on with Giles and her, he just needed to see its effect. It was selfish, but he wasn't about to starting being something that he wasn't, just to get on her good side.

Good side?

She had others he liked more.

As the bell sounded, he leant up against a row of lockers, waiting for her to leave the room. A poster boy for whatever poor little rich boy cliché Lorelei would try and label him as. He knew what made Lorelei snarl like a guard boy at him. It wasn't that he was like the absentee father Rory half idolised and half tried to please. It was the fact he was like she used to be. Dangerous. Too bright and beautiful . . . and cruel. Her laughing eyes were once meanly mocking. But Tristan wasn't her, as much as she believed otherwise, and leaning predatorily against the cool metal, he waited for Lorelei's beloved daughter. She was the last out of the room, with a flushed face it looked like she'd just got another grade she didn't considered good enough.

Nothing she did seemed to be 'good enough' for her, he noticed dogmatically.

"I would've thought you'd look happier to see me," he quipped joining her side, smirking as she jumped a little in surprise, but like always, she covered it before anyone else could notice.

But he noticed.

A dangerous skill to have.

"I'd be happier if you were nicer to me," she told him callously, not knowing the irony in her words.

"I try," he replied, but she hadn't been listening.

The halls were beginning to empty, just the way Tristan wanted them too. Rory noticed as well, her eyes questioning him to what he was doing. She didn't make any attempt to leave. Maybe she thought something was going to happen that she should wait around for, or maybe she just was more easily influenced by him on that particular day.

Then he was kissing her.

Soft touches never came, as if he skipped over that part, in his impatient manor of his. Her hands raked through his hair; her books had dropped to the ground long ago. He pushed her up against the banister that was donated by some famous writer or politician. If either of them were thinking clearly they would have noticed the close proximity to the main office which held the principal and all his minions.

It wasn't long before they were caught.

Tristan didn't mind, he was used to it.

But she wasn't.

They were given a lecture. Tristan got off light. Rory didn't. It was her that the formidable headmaster asked to stay back. In that cold office she shivered, more out of apprehension than fear. The leather of the armchairs stuck to her thighs, and she wished she could stop blushing in embarrassment. Tristan was good at this stuff, but he was gone, and it was just the two of them left. The headmaster with his dead eyes, and her, the girl with the fate he could decide merely with a stroke of his pen.

"When you transferred here, I worried whether you would manage," He started in that tone that made her want to sob. He drained the oxygen out of the room, making her feel suffocated and light headed. He then continued, examining her response, waiting for some signal, some sign, "That you wouldn't be able to catch up with the other students."

She wondered if he did care. He spent each day in an ivory castle so far detached from the students he was meant to govern. He didn't see anything. He was out of touch; an out dated relic from a time where authority figures were still respected.

"Don't give people a chance to say you don't belong here." He told her with that look in his eyes that said only one thing, give another piece of anecdotal advice. Everyone Rory had met wanted to teach her something, and at that moment, Rory knew they didn't have anything worth teaching her. That he, didn't have anything worth teaching to her.

"Like they don't say it already," She retorted, crossing her arms over her chest defensively.

"Just remember it's me who decides these things, not them." He replied, reforming his position of power and authority over her.

Over her?

A hint of recklessness came over her. It was happening more and more often she noticed. Maybe it was Tristan, he always seemed to try and rub off on her. Or maybe it wasn't, unlike every other person in her life, Tristan had no desire to mold her into something, or to try yet again to improve her. He seemed to like her just as she was, even with the faults she should have fixed long ago.

"I didn't get expelled last time I was in this office, why should I be worried now?" she challenged, with those cobalt eyes dancing defiantly.

Daring him.

Double daring him.

Principal Charleston looked for a second as if he balked, but he recovered seamlessly, "I hope you've got your priorities in order Ms Gilmore."

Looking in those black blue eyes, she chided in that mockingly innocent voice of hers, "Why should I bother? Someone else is always happy to do it for me."

* * *

**Chp12: Cordially invited **

****

* * *

Leering at her, Rory felt a blush rise to her cheeks, and with a certain touch he'd learnt to use well, he said, "Girls are always easy targets at Weddings. I could even get you to open your dimpled knees given time."

* * *

Sorry about the extended absence. Family stuff. But once again thanks for the reviews, and I hope you like this chp.

* * *

I'd like to dedicate this chp to Belle, as a thank you.

* * *


	12. Cordially invited

Title: Nine Months.

Author: Professional Scatterbrain

Rating: R

Couple: R/T

Summary: Tristan returns to Chilton, and to the game, but Rory's not playing.

Note: Tristan left later on in Rory's first year at Chilton, so therefore the whole nine-month thing works (a little hint, it's a metaphor for the fic). After Tristan left Rory formed a fledgling friendship with Paris, Louise and Madeline, and by the time senior years rolls up there good friends, well, most of the time at least. Everything that happened with Dean and Jess happened except it happened all before senior year. At the end of the year before Rory told Jess she loved him, and he left suddenly straight afterwards.

I made Chilton darker, because I found the whole picture perfect school depicted on the show nice, yet unrealistic. I tried to model it around my High School, showing the competitiveness, the cruelty, and self delusion within my environment. I go to a girls school though, so the guy thing still might take me a while to work out. Suggestions would be nice as this is my first GG fic.

* * *

**Chp12: Cordially invited **

****

****

* * *

****

****

Glittering lights illuminated the darkness.

Pretty young things moved violently, dangerously in that bible black night.

Another party. Another place that Rory hated. Tristan connived her to come, with his silver tongue, and touches that were too calculated. Or maybe they weren't, maybe the flickers of something untranslatable was why she followed the dazzling eyed boy to every event on his social calendar.

Another party.

Combined with yet another shot of something that burned down her throat like a fencing sword

Lane and Henry were there are well, lost somewhere in the masses of people. Bumping into each other as the heavily perfumed air rushed and curled around the teenage forms, Rory felt Tristan's hand steadying her. Around them, dizzy eyed youths moved like tides as the music shifted pace, speeding up and never slowing down.

"Dance with me," he told her.

He didn't ask.

It wasn't that he was rude, or that he expected her to be at his beckoned call as she had once thought. Now she just knew he didn't like leaving himself open for rejection. A quality that could be too endearing perhaps. Or rather, too threatening probably. Over time it had become another one of his bad habits that she knew she could never change.

Change?

Was she trying to change him?

What if she liked him just the way he was?

But what if she didn't know exactly who he was?

Such a deceptively wide-eyed boy.

He swept her into his arms, pulling her into the claustrophobic masses. She clung to him, lost without him there to guide her in this world she didn't quite blend in with. She didn't fit here either, with the beautiful faces and reckless actions she just felt out of it all, like a bystander.

He kissed her in the whirl of music and all those maddening rushes as the sound around them reached a crescendo, leaving her dizzy and weak kneed. His hands rested contentedly on her body, one under her shirt on the small of her back where he traced patterns that he knew left her flustered. His other hand was on her hip, with a couple of fingers straying under the waist line of her pants, making her jump a little as they explored her skin disregarding the social situation they were in.

The air smelt like smoke, a mix of the legal and illegal. Tristan left her during the middle of the night to go have a smoke, and during that time she sat next to Henry and Lane, watching them speak in laughs and intense looks.

Doe eyed young men and girls.

They're eyes were less deceptive compared to the slate eyed boy.

Rory could easily translate Henry.

But maybe that was always easier to do at a distance.

Maybe that was easier to do when not up close, lost in the crescendo and swaying glittery forms. Figures dressed in brand names and dollar signs responded to the music. In the swirling masses, girls with ruby lips smeared there lipstick as boys with far from darling smiles wrenched them ever closer. Words were wasted away under the pounding popcorn music, and promises were abandoning for clever hands and cellophane flattery.

Every action distorted what Rory was able to see.

But maybe it was meant to be like that with only Lane and Henry meant to have 20/20 vision.

Rory wondered what would happen between the two. Henry wasn't the only one that wanted Lane. Dave, a musician. Charming and earnest. Was also in the running for Lane's affection; diligently working on charming Lane and her mother. Which one would succeed? Maybe Dave? He wanted her for what make tick; the passion she had for music and life. But Henry treated her like a lady, and he knew how her mind and life worked, knowing first hand the pressures and restrictions placed on them both.

Two very different men, yet both of them infatuated with the same doe eyed girl.

Somehow, it reminded her of Dean and Jess, but Rory knew it wasn't that same situation, only similar. Neither Dave or Henry wanted anything other than to be with Lane, and she . . . well, she, like Rory, didn't yet know what she wanted. Dean and Jess; two of her regrets perhaps. One of the dark handsome boys she managed to fuck up within such a limited time frame. The other . . . Jess . . . ran before she could get in too deep.

But neither of them were parallels to Dave or Henry.

Neither of them wanted anything other than what they chose to see.

But Henry and Dave were everything and nothings.

Never hiding anything other than the extent of their intentions.

But the time passed quicker than she would have liked it too. Her head was filled with the hum of music, her clothes tainted with smoke and the smell of beer. Tristan drank; she vividly recalled how out of character his actions seemed to her when she found out. She had always thought he wouldn't, that he wouldn't risk losing control all because of a few drinks too many. He had other less legal pastimes, choosing to blur that line occasional, when reasons, still too complex for her to understand, weighed that final straw too much on his shoulders. It was only then, only then did he allow her to witness any of his major addictions, but it was like trying to capture a fleeting second with no prelude to warn her. She wondered sometimes if he'd stop if she asked. She knew part of it would, the drugs probably, but not the drinking or smoking, they were parts of him too embedded in his habits to change just because she asked nicely.

In the crowd, Rory picked out Madeline as she stumbled outside onto the lush green grass. Heels hanging in her hands, she might have looked her age if the captain of the swim team didn't have his on her ass. Leaning her head on Lane's shoulder, Rory listened half-heartedly to their conversation, while watching the descending rumpled figure of Louise, as she strode ever so alluringly down the stairs. Behind her came a boy whose smirk didn't seem to hold as securely as he wanted it too.

Louise was more than a dangerous girl, and glittering boys were the only people that could hurt others.

On her wrist, her watch ticked over time, spitting it out from under its hands wastefully. It was getting late, even by his standards. Glancing away from her bejewelled symbol of belated wealth, she left Lane and Henry. Once again searching for the blonde haired eye boy with those slate eyes. It was only when the crowds were finally calming down, either from exhaustion, drugs, or spending too much time in dark corners and rooms, she found him. Limbs slumped, and appearing all to alluring in his state to make Rory feel anything but uncomfortable, he was with some of his friends.

They all look a little out of it as that cliché states ever so eliquently

All their glittering gold eyes black and unsettling in the artificial lighting.

Another group of beautiful faces, and cruel eyes directed at her.

They didn't like her, or maybe that wasn't it, maybe they just ignored her, knowing she'd disappear like the others. Would she? Rory wasn't sure, if she did, it would be her choice, not Tristan's, he would never be able to categorise her like that. She had learnt how easy it was to prevent that ages ago, when they were just acquaintances.

Pulling him away from the bright young things she felt his hands slip under her shirt tracing patterns she recognised from times spent in heated make out sessions in his room, and the backseats of cars. Ever so classy. Ever so more than just a make out session as all those teen novels named it. Unlike Jessica and Elizabeth in Sweet Valley High, make out sessions involved far more exciting things than all those chaste kisses, and not all girls were re-invented into virginal goddesses each new school day

Wasn't it all ever so becoming of young gentlemen and ladies?

As he slipped his hand under her bra she held back a swallow breath. Deflecting those roving fingers before the crowds of seduced and sedated teenagers could notice, she was a mess of hazy eyes and heated skin. He was swaying, all too much a vision of vogue sleep deprived beauty. He placed open mouthed kisses on her neck, whispering a combination of sweet and crude words into her ear until she pushed him away.

"You're out of it Tris," she told him more in the need to distract his ministrations than a desire to start a conversation that he would have little memory of the next morning.

"So are you," he muttered, his frame daunting hers as he trapped her against the wall, but she twisted out of his reach, not the least afraid by his actions.

Tristan prided himself on his control.

Although he could hurt her physically, he wouldn't.

That wasn't his style.

He preferred control to chaos.

But it was slipping.

With the help of the drugs he had taken, it was more than slipping, making his him far too vulnerable to her.

Vulnerable?

She was vulnerable to him.

Leading him into the cold air she looked at him, wondering what to do with him. In an hour or two, but probably three, he'd be back to normal, out of the influence he had chosen that night. But that left her those hours to kill. The old always wanted to savour time, while the youth wanted to kill it.

A couple of hours to save or spend.

She wouldn't take him to her home, Lorelei would have a fit. That was a given. It was always a choice that would set off more chain reactions than Rory wanted to start. It was out of the question to even consider taking him to the DuGrey estate, something about that scenario whispered thoughts and images of other girls just as out of it as him, all retreating into one of the many rooms to be careless and use oh so many euphemisms to describe the time they spent together the next morning. She refused to be that girl, to be so easily lost to the cycle of being used and using.

The sky was taking on a grey colour that whispered of rain and cold weather.

She felt it in her bones.

She felt it like whispers licking her consciousness as she wrenched Tristan out of the vicinity of the manor.

In the dimly lit garden she pulled him into a stumbling walk, trying to sober him up, or at least slightly more him alert. His eyes were fixed on her yet again, his hands finding there way under her shirt but even with his reactions dull and slow he managed to make her react more than she wanted to with him in this state. When his hands started working on her pants she took hold of the situation, taking it back to the PG level she wanted it to stay on.

Yanking him along, she briskly walked at he staggered and lurched onwards beside her. She kept moving until his eyes unclouded, and returned to the electric slate grey she was so enamoured with. Although his head still wasn't back in the game his appearance was enough to send him home through the backdoors. By the time she achieved this goal, it wasn't late anymore, but far too early in the morning. He almost looked normal, he almost looked fine . . . he almost looked . . . almost . . . in his right mind

As long as he didn't say a word nothing could go wrong.

Just as long as he didn't say a word.

As she removed his shoes later that night in his room, he asked her to stay in a voice that wasn't fully his own. Rory didn't reply, she wasn't ready for dealing with this. Yet, without the expected feelings of shock or fear she comprehended the reason why she was there in his room, with him, not off safe in her room with her mother waking her up in the middle of the night to talk about how her day was. It was as if she had known all a long to expect this sort of behaviour out of him. It was like she knew that was the part of the struggle she'd have to deal with if she truly wanted to be with him. She didn't like these knowing assumptions, nor did she like the fact she wanted to stay. As she pulled the covers over his form she wondered if this was what her mother warned her about as a child.

A waring that obviously had far less of an impact as Lorelei wanted.

It was only after she left his house and was safely home in her room that she hadn't considered abandoning Tristan for, she wondered why Lorelei was so afraid her daughter being with a guy that wasn't perfect.

But Rory knew the answer to this query.

She knew the reasoning behind it, even though she couldn't understand it.

* * *

Days bleed into each other, the masses of glittering parties merged into a whirlwind of colour and beautiful faces. Chilton was a spinning ride of intimidation and rules within regulations of their younger set making up the hierarchy of society. As he walked through the grand house, Tristan felt darkness wrapping around him, as if welcoming him back into the fold. He was tired of the head games, and the polite chatter his parents had forced during the dinner. 

The cold shoulders.

The barbed quips.

Once again he was sighing. Once again he was another well dressed cliché. This time the poor little rich kid. What would it be next time? Footsteps echoed, but they didn't form an urban rhyme, but the deaf mans music he couldn't hear. He prepared to retreat to his room, until he heard the shrill ring of the phone. Picking it up, he heard her soft, tearful voice.

"Could I speak to Tristan please."

Rory was ever polite, and courteous.

It was part of her nature.

She had a chameleon type charm, which allowed her to fit in anywhere. From a country club glittering social event, to a Stars Hollow Winter Snow Dance she managed to seamlessly insert herself into each different situation. Well, at least superficially. But on the phone, her voice seemed too sullen, as if the darkness that clung to him somehow infected her.

"What wrong Rory?"

He could hear her pause, and take a deep breath at the other end of the line, "Something happened, and I shouldn't feel this way, I mean, I've got no right to feel sad. I just wanted to, to, to, I don't know . . ."

"You want to go somewhere?" he asked, half of him just wanted her to say yes so he could leave his house.

He knew the answer before he voiced the question.

But for some reason he still found himself needing her articulated response.

An hour later, the two met, outside the old, charred house. Silence stretched between the two. The harsh, biting wind whipped around them, getting caught in Rory's long, light brown hair, making the long strands dance in the afternoon light. The sky was blue, and it seemed out of place. Something was bothering Rory, he knew, but he didn't know what.

Some demon had a hold over her.

Yet, he wasn't going to be her knight in shinning armour. He didn't play the nice guy, nor did he play the softhearted rebel. There wear too many rough edges and angles now for him to be the same boy that stole a kiss when he was sixteen. Sitting next to her on the piano, he remembered clinically saying the right things, and losing part of his mind in her dizzy eyes.

Without a word, she handed over a card.

The card.

Made of beautiful ivory paper, with roses embossed on the front it looked benign and harmless. Printed in curvy, flowing print, Tristan finally saw what was causing the girl he had hunted and since he first called her Mary so much grief. Grief over a boy that apparently may have fallen for her doll eyes but never stayed around long enough to notice that he'd scratched the surface.

_'We cordially invite you to the wedding of Dean and Lindsey'_

Cordially?

Ironic word usage?

Or sadistic?

Distancing herself from him, Rory's figure looked much frailer than she'd ever admit herself to be, "He's marring her, I knew they were dating, at least Lorelei told me that. Lindsey gave it to me when I got off the bus. I didn't even know it was serious between them, at first I though it was some revenge thing. The whole dating Dean thing and all that or something. But then she's practically asking me to be a braids maid, and who'll be my date to the wedding, and what colour and size I want for my dress."

"Shit."

That was about all Tristan could think to say.

He wondered what the hell the other girl was thinking.

He wondered what the hell Rory was thinking.

She was treading such a fine line.

While he chose mind numbing pursuits, she chose this; this self imposed torture.

He'd never had to deal with anything like this, and it was kind of shocking that Rory had chosen to come to him about it. He'd never been good with commitment, and the only marriages he knew about were the fucked up ones in the social circles he roamed and rotated through. Besides that he still didn't like the feeling of his girlfriend being affected by the gangly boy. In his version of a prefect world she shouldn't give a damn what happened to the dropkicks in her life. Perfect world? Rory always got attached to people, forming relationships that she shouldn't ever have been required to make. Being the one stretched, the one reaching out even when she ended up with her hand being slapped away. He should have wondered clinically at this point why he knew these facts, and why they effected him, but he didn't, couldn't for some reason that was yet unknown to him.

"I know you don't like Dean, and I know I'm not in love with him anymore, its just . . ." she trailed off, her eyes refusing to meat his.

"It hurts." Tristan finished almost uncomfortably, then with a shifting smirk, he stated defiantly, "On the record, I never hated him, I just disliked him immensely."

That managed to get a laugh out of Rory. She closed the distance between them, and he watched her body relax a little; unclenching muscles, unfolding limbs. Out of the duck and cover defence. She ran a hand through her hair, producing a hair tie out of nowhere and raking her hair into pony tail. A silence formed, but it wasn't filled with anything other than air. Finally, Rory crossed her arms over her chest, taking a small breath before speaking.

"I don't want to go, or even think about there wedding, but I know I have to go because if I don't everyone will talk about it and I'll be this bad person in there eyes, and it's not like I want to hurt Dean by not being there for him, it's just, I always sort of thought I'd be the one marring him as stupid as it sounds,"

Although she had stated the last comments calmly, she ended the ramblings dangerously close to snapping into the million pieces she feared shattering into. He wanted to take her hand, maybe touch her shoulder. It seemed like something he was meant to do. He settled for briefly patting her arm. But the gesture seemed unpractised and childlike, in self-disgust, he pulled away.

Bowing his head a little to examine the keys in his hand, Tristan found himself breaking into his irregular pattern of breathing, stating almost too simply and almost too meaninglessly, "It's not stupid,"

Her teary blue eyes looked past him not bothering to find his gaze, instead focusing in the direction of the house she had burnt down, "Did you want the white picket fence dream?"

Smirking a little, Tristan smiled the smile that didn't meet her eyes this time, "I don't have a great deal of faith in marriage Mary, but if you need the support, I'd love to come to the Bagboys big day to see you in some pink pastel bridesmaids dress."

Rory knew he avoided the question. Rewording it to the point where she no longer pursued an answer. Or answering a question with a question. She refused to repeat herself, too certain of the probability of her receiving an answer she might not want. That would only allow her to see Tristan in a different light, to allow her to be more vulnerable to him than she already was. They were dating, he was her boyfriend, she was his girlfriend, but things weren't at that stage yet. Physically they were moving fast, faster than she had before, she trusted him to take care of her in that respect, but in the other they were still taking steps instead of leaps.

"I think you only want to go to their wedding so you can were some fancy suit and pick up one of Lindsey's many friends." She quipped softly, her eyes crinkling in amusement as he approached her.

Leering at her, Rory felt a blush rise to her cheeks, and with a certain touch he'd learnt to use well, he said, "Girls are always easy targets at Weddings. I could even get you to open your dimpled knees given time."

At sixteen, Rory would have been shocked into silence, and probably mutter some excuse to get rid of him, but the two years that had past, gave her some confidence she lacked when she first arrived at Chilton. She effected him, and with that knowledge she took a calculated risk and advanced on him.

"Really?" she questioned; then breaching the distance that held them apart, she moved closer to him.

To close.

Close enough to smell the mix of leather, his (obviously expensive) cologne, and cigarette smoke, on his skin as she breathed the soft words just below his ear, making his knees weak, "Is that a challenge DuGrey?"

"A promise. I'm sure you'll want to take advantage of the situation. You being the ex girlfriend watching him walk down the else with another girl. Me, the dashing suitor at your side, ready to . . ." he trailed, off, breathlessly, suddenly unable to think of an ending to his sentence.

Whispering, she replied, "When I want to take advantage of the situation it wouldn't matter where we are."

* * *

Hours pasted. 

The slate eyed boy, and the doll like girl returned to their respective orbits.

Returned, but once again found themselves stuck in an impasse, a limbo of space and time.

It was school came those few hours later. It was received as the first dawn rising from the darkness from that night, the night when she had told him about the wedding. The wedding that she was meant to watch with another fake smile painted on her face. But it was a new day and all those false reassuring lies Rory liked to believe in attempted to embody it. They found themselves skipping the morning's classes, and sitting on the lush green in the only blind spot the soccer field held from the prying eyes of the teaching staff. His hand was on her knee as she flung her left leg over his, and lay down, staring up into the sky.

"You talked to Lorelei?" he asked a few moments later, too allured by the partial intimacy they were sharing on the school sports lawn to think with any clarity.

"Do we ever really talk anymore?" she threw back at him, not answering his question, "We talk about things that are nice, and happy."

He wasn't meant to be having this talk with her, comforting her. It was Lorelei, and more dangerously or perhaps only superficially, it was about Dean. He wanted her to not care, to feel nothing towards the floppy haired boy, or even better, to be happy he was getting married, that would be more like it. But that wasn't how it was. Yet again he found himself unable to manage comforting her due to the fact he was so inept at it.

Playing with her light brown hair she had inherited from her father, he jokingly asked as he pulled himself up to look down at her, "I could buy you a puppy, then things would be better,"

Looking up at him, and those blue diamond eyes, she pulled his head down for a short sweet kiss, a touch the sent a bolt of warmth throughout his body. She released the back of his neck after a paralysing second where all he could do was freeze as she watched him.

She never allowed him to be a cold comfort, never would let him stay unattached.

"I think I like you a little,"

Grinning down at her, as she lay so close to him, he took her hand and placed a chaste kiss on her knuckles and mumbled, "Liar, you always were hot for me,"

"Can't you pretend to be nice?"

"I could but then I'd be boring. So, how about it, am I making an appearance as the reckless rouge of a boyfriend at bag boy's big day?"

"No, I'm not going. It's better that way. I don't want to play the role of the ex girlfriend, and make people uncomfortable. Lorelei of course doesn't agree,"

"She doesn't have too," Tristan told her in that way of his, letting her know how stupid it was to always be worried about her mothers opinions.

But he didn't have a mother like Lorelei. He didn't like her. Everyone loved Lorelei, everyone noticed her first. That was the point of it. Lorelei was a stunning creature composed of light, whirling and dancing movement, matched with ecstatic eyes. Rory was the understudy in there relationship. It was cruel to say so, but sometimes it was true.

However, it was only when she was around Tristan it didn't seem to make her so guilty when she felt it.

* * *

**Next chp: Complicity**

****

****

* * *

"Cheer up Bible boy, didn't anyone ever tell you to look on the bright side of life?" came Rory's dulcet voice as she stepped to his side. 

Her hand straying onto his arm for just that second too long to be perceived by outsides as a platonic touch.

"I would have though Monty Python would have been too risqué for Stars Hollows," he retorted, his eyes glinted like chandeliers.

* * *

Once again I thank Belle for helping with this fic and continually listening to me with I talk about connatations and metaphors.

* * *


	13. Complicity

* * *

Title: Nine Months. 

Author: Professional Scatterbrain

Rating: Pg - 13

Couple: R/T

Summary: Tristan returns to Chilton, and to the game, but Rory's not playing.

Note: Tristan left later on in Rory's first year at Chilton, so therefore the whole nine-month thing works (a little hint, it's a metaphor for the fic). After Tristan left Rory formed a fledgling friendship with Paris, Louise and Madeline, and by the time senior years rolls up there good friends, well, most of the time at least. Everything that happened with Dean and Jess happened except it happened all before senior year. At the end of the year before Rory told Jess she loved him, and he left suddenly straight afterwards.

I made Chilton darker, because I found the whole picture perfect school depicted on the show nice, yet unrealistic. I tried to model it around my High School, showing the competitiveness, the cruelty, and self delusion within my environment. I go to a girls school though, so the guy thing still might take me a while to work out. Suggestions would be nice as this is my first GG fic.

* * *

****

Chp 13: Complicity

* * *

Another society dinner.

Yet again.

Seated on a glittering table Tristan face was expressionless, as he waited for Rory to arrive. Always waiting. But not always for her. He sat, glacier eyed, with his parents, while his brother and his stunning wife were dancing. Daniel danced with the air of someone who had that ability forced on him from years of social engagements. Annabelle danced like liquid, her body moving with the music only she could hear; a parallel song much greater than the one being played by the inept musicians.

Tristan found himself watching; strangely entranced by the couple.

Watching the swirl and curling of Annabelle's chiffon dress. Watching Daniel's hand. Always at the base of her spine. She was colours and light, torn wings of butterflies and gilded eyes. She would either be romanticised or mocked at the end of the evening. Daniel was stiff, unyielding, yet, with these calculated moves he was the one people would watch, another boy only worth a passing glance by his elders.

Glancing away, boredom rapidly overtook Tristan's mind.

Neither gilded eyes nor an unyielding brother entertained him.

Rory was apparently meant to make an appearance, but knowing her mother it was unlikely that the two women would arrive on time, nor stay beyond dessert. Tristan felt his mind slip into the game as he looked over at Louise and Lemon's group of friends. The group of stunningly gorgeous creatures were just another cliche of vapid girls. One Louise was intent on becoming one of. The fiery blonde was always looking for a chance to move up.

A chance to move up.

It might actually happen.

It probably would by the looks some of the wealthier men were giving her.

It probably wouldn't by the looks some of the wealthier boys were giving her.

Oh the young set and there toys.

But, Tristan reminded himself as she winked playfully at him, Louise was never a toy.

Never just a plaything.

She preferred dictating actions rather than playing the part of a mignonette.

From his side, Tristan watched his father converse with Paris father. Another bastard of a man. Hawk eyes in a gucci suit. Another cut out that matched the rest. Sharing the same story line of many; a bitch of a wife that he would never leave, and the constant rotation of pretty faced young women for him to fuck each time he felt bored.

Bored.

Paris had left the table, her stiff body frozen as her mother told her to smile and go dance with the young gentlemen. Mrs. Gellor was just another version of Frances DuGrey. Only more of a bitch. If that was possible. Or maybe it wasn't. Frances was the vapid one out of the two, and as they talked on and on, he watched the surgically youthful of his mother babble and gossip.

"Go and mingle darling," Frances told him, her cold powder blue eyes poisoning him with there hypocritical intentions. "There are lots of pretty girls here, why don't you go and have some fun,"

Fun.

He smirked at the double meaning of her words that obviously was lost on her. Many things, however, were lost on her. Not that she minded. Not that he did either. Her wide eyes glanced at him, god, why couldn't she just keep one face. Just as he got used to a new smile, a new almond shaped eyes she had to change it.

But, smirking that same smirk he managed to leave the table with a charming indifference, then melting with practiced ease into the crowd of colourful dresses, and dark suits. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed his grandfather talking with a group of wealthy out of touch old grey haired men. Son of a bitch. Those mean eyes, those slate eyes that were now shared by Tristan looked at the youth, then he dismissed the blonde, returning to his cigar smoke and business deals. The slate eyed boy wondered what the bastard would say about Rory.

Rory.

He hadn't told his parents about her.

For some reason he couldn't let this just be him asking how high when they ordered a jump. The insurance deal was still being dealt; Richard Gilmore stealing every cent like the money whore that Rory would never see. But Tristan knew the deal would go through, but sides would sign on that dotted line grinning charmingly, both believing they'd screwed the other. Grinning Charmingly. Charmingly grinning. What a lark it would be. Prostituting there values and morals without even realising. Another habit that Tristan would most probably receive somewhere along the line. Hand in hand with the trust fund and some job much higher than Elspeth would ever reach. Automatically, Tristan allowed a cellophane grin to pass over his face as Janlan nodded to him knowingly.

Another cellophane smile.

Another cellophane smirk.

Another cellophane grin.

Another cellophane boy.

"Cheer up Bible boy, didn't anyone ever tell you to look on the bright side of life?" came Rory's dulcet voice as she stepped to his side.

Her hand straying onto his arm for just that second too long to be perceived by outsides as a platonic touch.

Platonic?

Far from it, well as least he preferred to see it like that.

"I would have though Monty Python would have been too risqué for Stars Hollows," he retorted, his eyes glinted like chandeliers.

Pushing her into the only blind stop at the corner of the room, he kissed her hard, wanting to try and remember what it was like to be so warm. His hands slipped under her satin top, just enough to feel her skin but still remain diluted enough for any possible interruptions. But her bones still turned into water, and he still held her that little bit too tight. Finally, running her hands through his hair, she tried to smooth the waves in the blonde mess she had caused. Giving up, she stepped back and out of that blind spot Tristan wanted to stay in all night.

"So, this is what the rich and the dammed do,"

Her lazily voice, too tempting and too vivid washed over him. She stood, head cocked to the side, observing the torn butterflies women, and the black abyss men in their dinner suits. Her hips were angled just that little bit back. Idly he examined her. She didn't look quite the way Lorelei wanted her anymore. But Tristan didn't bother much anymore with what Lorelei wanted.

He didn't smile at her words, nor did he feel anything, "You get used to it."

Taking his hand for a second, she kissed his scarred knuckles, "No we won't,"

What a cliché of words.

It almost felt sick on her tongue, and she found herself blushing after the words had left her mouth. She smiled a sad smile, bitting her lip, trying to forget that she had let him know she already understood he'd fallen into the routine that she was beginning to become part of. What a silly girl. Silly girl and her silly words. Glancing over to the middle of the tables of powerful people, Rory face took on that cover of a look he now recognised.

Following her gaze he spotted her mother.

She was beautiful, stunning and untouchable, taunting and unattainable. Never aloof, she looked more like the college student visiting their old high school. Seeing the same buildings and pretending they were smaller. Pretending the old uniform were light years away from the gleaming new fabrics covering the same skin and the same person.

Pretending.

Believing in the pretend.

But she still was beautiful.

Rory crossed her arms over her waist. It seemed lovely wasn't quite enough when place in the same room as that glittering butterfly. Tristan scoffed as Lorelei teased Emily, the older woman's face tightening. Lorelei was too brash, too bold, her actions unplanned. She may had gotten what she wanted all those years ago, but it seemed she still felt the need to fight for it.

Maybe she still needed convincing.

Maybe her choice didn't matter.

Instead of being a DAR darling she was a Stars Hollow Sweetheart.

She played another version of the same act. She acted the same version with the same conviction as a young actor trying to convince the world that his new teen romance really was different to the others that had come before it. It was painting by numbers all over again. But Lorelei was beautiful, even as she joked uncouthly. Rory shuffled, turning her shoulders away from the mother that somehow over shadowed her, even though she appeared to be everything Lorelei should have been.

"You don't have to be like her," he told her.

"Yes I do," she whispered, "It's too late for me to change that,"

She wasn't perfect, and she wasn't sweet and kind all the time. Rory hated how Tristan had to see the parts of her she hid. He wasn't meant to see her angry or cruel, yet he always did. He saw the parts of her that she had always perfected in concealing from Dean, Jess, her mother, her father, everyone. He made her feel like it was okay to act in ways a girl like her shouldn't act. She sometimes hated him for that. She wasn't meant to be as she was, she was meant to be better than that.

Better than that.

Better than what?

Another question she never could answer.

Another question she pretended not to be bothered trying to answer.

"I have to go," she told him, her eyes not meeting his.

"God Ror, stop doing this," he mumbled, his tone somewhat harsher than he would have liked, his eyes creasing. "Stop punishing yourself; you always blame yourself for everything. You don't have to be what she wants, or what anybody wants. You're so worried about people stopping loving you. You don't have to act or do what people want to be loved. Not everyone will love you, but the people that matter will,"

She looked at him, distancing herself from him and the truths she should had acknowledged long ago.

"Why can't you just let me be?"

"Because." He answered somewhat childishly.

She felt herself get angry, but before she could snap at him, Tristan pulled her to the side of the dance floor. From there he pointed out his brother and his beautiful wife. Rory wondered if he was only doing this to show her the comparison in his life; how he wasn't like his brother or father. But maybe it was the opposite, and maybe she was another Annabelle ready to be wooed by a DuGrey smile and a few charming words.

Maybe she'd already been charmed.

She didn't want to be 'charmed' though. She didn't want him to have that effect over her. He already had too much power over her already. She wouldn't give permission to allow him even more influence over her. He was bright and stunning, but he was also stark and dangerous.

He pulled her onto the dance floor.

His hand lay in the small of her back, and she was beyond nervous. She fumbled, and couldn't seem to remember any of the steps. She couldn't seem to remember anything. Nothing came to mind as she was spun round and round. He guided her, like a blind girl being pulled into the crushing masses.

She felt terrible.

She felt wrong.

Gawky and lanky she was far from the gilded perfection of Annabelle. The Fijian glided and smouldered, elegant and alluring, a mix of everything unthinkable, while Rory felt pale and sickly in comparison. Her mother laughed from the sideline, teasing and testing her parents, while Emily looked on, with that proud smile on her face as her granddaughter danced with the only boy that seemed good enough in her eyes for the saving grace of the Gilmore family.

The voices, loud, excitable, and pounding all blurred as he spun her.

The lights and smells, alcohol and white candles became a mess of splattered colours as Rory was dipped.

Falling backwards to the floor.

But he caught her, just before she herself convinced he wouldn't.

Rory clung to Tristan then, as the music slowed, and as the singer took hold, the clear voice spearing the suddenly sodden air. Her fingers dug into her suit, the fabric rough and obviously expensive under her finger tips. The unexpected flash of light erupted to the left of her, and Tristan smirked, his lips brushing too close to her skin as he leaned into her neck, whispering.

"Smile pretty for the society page."

She wanted to close her eyes. She wanted to pretend. But she didn't because it was stupid to pretend. It was stupid. Despite being a silly girl, she did have her limits. So she clung to him, pulling him closer, wanting to feel his breath against her skin, willing the music to cease, and willing it to continue.

She felt sick, and she felt alive, and she was on overload and she had no idea why.

"Can we go outside," she found herself thinking.

But her thoughts seemed to have articulated themselves without her permission, and soon she was lead outside. But then she realised the music hadn't stoped, and that she was the one who had lead him off the dance floor and through the glittering people to the outside world. His eyes, dark and still that slate colour that haunted her were blank as she led him out into the cool air and sparkling water of the county club pool. He didn't ask her anything, instead, he just followed, but in a way, it felt like she was the one following him. Following him into another blind spot. Following his lead and imaging charming words exiting his smirking smile.

Maybe she was already charmed a little even without the imagined words.

More than a little.

So there they where.

A doll like girl and a glacier eyed boy.

He seemed to glow with a charisma she had never seemed to inherit from her mother and father.

Legs swung over the side of the diving board as the boy flicked water up at her from his position at the edge of the pool. His dancing, untouchable eyes looked down at her, and she pretended that he was telling a secret, making him a promise, but quickly her attention wander over to the masses of other people on the grounds.

Another meeting of the bright young things of their chosen society.

The slate eyed boy jumped off the ledge of the pool to relative safety; enjoying the attention he received at the completion of the action. With the seamless strength of a seasoned swimmer, the blonde ran a hand through his hair. Someone called out to him. A figure of some obvious importance that Tristan felt the need to respond too.

Silhouetted against the night sky, with torches lit around the expansive garden, the cobalt eyed girl, followed the boy into the jaws of civilisation, stretching her face into a forced smile as they reached his friends. His friends. Hazy eyed girls and boys dressed in designer one offs. Glowing skin and breath stained by peppermint chewing gum, covering the shared vice of cigarettes, alcohol, and other substances that weren't quite as semi legal to use.

In the corner of her eye, Rory paused, seemly imprisoned in immobility as Daniel led Annabelle out to there waiting car. She really was something ethereal; something far more beautiful than torn butterfly wings and calculated actions. Turning a little, Annabelle smiled, waving out to Tristan.

"Lucky bastard," Tristan told her, stepping close in the muted lights of the grounds.

"I like her," Rory replied, her eyes still fixated on the couple as Daniel placed his jacket over her shoulders.

They almost looked young. They almost looked like teenagers. She made them look younger. She pulled Daniel closer, her curves and soft smiling face smoothed his ridged angles, hiding some of his nature. She glittered, and somehow Rory believed, in that second, that she truly was gold, that Annabelle was real, and that it wasn't a happy ending Rory needed to imagine. But late at night, sitting stiff and cold in her living room, Rory knew she would doubt what she saw, that she would doubt the fairy tale, not knowing why she was picking apart something that had seemed so beautiful hours before.

But that would come later, and now, as Tristan waved back to the illuminating Annabelle, Rory didn't care.

She pretended that it was nothing more than what she wanted, and that it was nothing less than what she saw.

She just didn't know why.

She just didn't know why it seemed so utterly important to believe, to have that happy ending.

So, as he joined a group of youths, one she didn't know, and ones that didn't know her, she smiled, nervously, brushing her hair behind her ear, trying not to stand out, while he laughed, leered, and did everything in his power to be the centre of the growing attention. At that moment she was just a visitor to his world, another pretty girl his friends assume he was leering into his bed. They could have been correct. Depending on his mood he could be anything he wanted or others wanted him to be. But in the ends, he always was the same thing. He was the leader, the chosen elite royalty, holding all the necessary credentials needed to be the alpha male in there pack of pretty young things.

But in the end, weren't they all the same?

Weren't they?

"Rory dear," came Emily's silver tone, "We're leaving darling,"

The sound of her Grandmothers voice released her from the unnoticed state, allowing her to break away from the group. But still, she found herself blushing, somehow embarrassed of the faults she knew the blank eyes of the teenagers found as they, picked her up, examining her, finding all the faults she tried to hide with their all knowing eyes. She was 'that girl'. Tristan nodded at her, kissing her cheek, knowing she'd escape.

Not all habits had been ended as of yet.

She somehow felt rechart atrocious as Tristan turned away from her, and trailing her grandparents, silently trying to mirror and memorise her Grandmother's strength and her Grandfather's knowing nature, only seemed to compound the feeling. She tried to forget the feeling of his breath on his neck, and the tattooed feeling of his hands on her skin. Emily and Richard took her, their saving grace, tightly holding her. She tried to mirror and memorise them. She tried. But it seemed like the good features that would be remembered while the bad would be whitewashed into obscurity. She pretended that she was conditioned to bells and lessons times, not the sometimes fickle desires of others, but it was obvious.

However, that didn't mean she could try.

"Did you have fun tonight?" Richard asked with a sparkling shift and matching electric blue eyes.

"Meet any new friends dear?" Emily questioned, looking pointedly at the slate eyed boy's parents as they exited the estate.

"Not really," Rory found herself replying as she intently watched the chaffer driven BMW draw closer and closer.

"Your mother's waiting," Richard stated in that unidentifiable tone of his before he wished her good bye, his worn hands grasping Rory's comfortingly.

Yes, Lorelei was.

The two graceful entities by Rory's side kissed her cheeks.

They kissed her cheeks, and whispered promises of dinners and lunch dates.

Finally, they disappearing into the night.

"Took your sweet time," Lorelei muttered from inside the jeep, with a laughing smile pasted onto her heart shaped face.

But as Rory slipped into the car, she knew her mother was irritated, annoyed, and as the sickly sweet musk perfume perpetrated the air, filling the car, somehow, Rory felt ashamed. It was stupid, driving home. Yet, all Rory could do was look at her hands, unable to say anything of any meaning. Glancing into the side mirror, she paused, catching her tried expression. She was utterly tired. But that was her fault.

Silly girl.

In her high heels, and painted face she was very much the chine doll Emily described her as. Just another still life on a shelf. She was a girl playing dress up, and in her shimmering dress that slide over her hips, she was an object that was on its way to its final evolution as the pretty Sabrina that Rory was repeatedly told she looked like.

Just another silly girl.

* * *

****

Next Chp: Hold my hand because I'm . . . 

* * *

No preview, you'll just have to wait and see.

* * *

This chp is dedicated to Belle who got me writing again. 

Sorry for the wait, I had my end of year 12 exams, and thus, spent all (and I mean _all_) my time studying like I have never studied before, and after that I when on Schoolies with my friends, and I've only just got back. I would like to thank everyone who has taken the time to review my fic, and I hope this chp makes up for the wait.

Thanks again for your patience,

Professional Scatterbrain

* * *


	14. Hold my hand because I'm

* * *

Title: Nine Months. 

Author: Professional Scatterbrain

Rating: Pg - 13

Couple: R/T

Summary: Tristan returns to Chilton, and to the game, but Rory's not playing.

Note: Tristan left later on in Rory's first year at Chilton, so therefore the whole nine-month thing works (a little hint, it's a metaphor for the fic). After Tristan left Rory formed a fledgling friendship with Paris, Louise and Madeline, and by the time senior years rolls up there good friends, well, most of the time at least. Everything that happened with Dean and Jess happened except it happened all before senior year. At the end of the year before Rory told Jess she loved him, and he left suddenly straight afterwards.

I made Chilton darker, because I found the whole picture perfect school depicted on the show nice, yet unrealistic. I tried to model it around my High School, showing the competitiveness, the cruelty, and self delusion within my environment. I go to a girls school though, so the guy thing still might take me a while to work out. Suggestions would be nice as this is my first GG fic.

* * *

**Chp 13: Hold my hand because I'm. . .

* * *

**

Of course in the duration of that night she met his family.

Of course.

There was the father with his eyes so much like Tristan's, and the brother who winked at her when he smiled. Then there was the head of the family name and corporation, grandfather, Janlan, whose eyes followed her all night long. He was another type of man Lorelei had warned her about, the kind that hated women. Frances and Annabelle were sweet, and beautiful and reminded Rory of tissue paper brides dressed in chiffon and glittering jewels.

What a maddening, and sh9immeringly cold, mixed up mess they were.

But of course they were.

It was obvious that Aiden approved of Tristan dating her; she had been invited to have dinner with then a week later. Well, she guessed an invitation to his home correlated with approval. She wasn't sure. When Emily found out, Rory could have sworn her grandmother nearly blinded her with that excited smile of hers. Of course Emily was happy now that her granddaughter was finally dating a boy from the right family, the right background.

Ironically, she was one of the many who believed Tristan went to 'boarding' school for nine months.

So here Rory found herself, a month later, outside the doors of the DuGrey mansion, dressed in a deep red floaty top, and a matching skirt that Emily had picked out saying it made her look glamorous and sweet. A combination that seemed to strike a discord, even to Rory.

Somehow she reminded Tristan of a dancer as she walked into the front hall of the DuGrey mansion. All long limbed, and shadowy movements. He had never intended any invitation of this sort to be issued to her. Elspeth, with the dark circles under her eyes, and the creased designer clothes wanted to meet Rory though. Maybe because of her promise. Or maybe because of something else. She had muttered something about the girl who made her brother act like a mean child. But despite her sugar promises he remained unsure of how the evening was to play out. Knowing sister he understood Rory probably wouldn't leave the family home bestest best friends with El.

No one did despite believing otherwise.

Perhaps the same sentiment could be applied to him.

Not like it mattered either way to him.

Greeting Tristan with her wide smile, and bright eyes, Rory allowed him to give her a chaste kiss before leading her into the formal dinning room. It was almost ironic when he looked back on the evening. His hand shook just that little, so he shoved them deep inside his pockets. Weakness could never be shown in front of his family. Elspeth, standing ever so perfectly in her heels and frosty green cocktail dress smiled in her usual manner as the two entered the room, but this only worried Tristan. Her manor could be disarming and deadly when she chose to be.

He had a feeling this would be one of those times.

She was far from sweet and didn't like to go against her nature.

"Elspeth, this is my girlfriend Rory Gilmore." Tristan introduced evenly, quietly observing his sister, hoping for once she'd heeded to his warnings, and at least attempt to 'nice' to Rory.

The older DuGrey smiled a smile that was far to like Tristan's to be calming, and shook Rory's hand. "I've heard so much about you. Tristan's very much enamoured with you."

Blushing, Rory laughed a little as she watched Tristan give his older sister a death glare. "Nice to meet you."

"Well, my brother, I'm afraid the dinner has been cancelled, Father just called. He, mother, and Daniel have been delayed by the weather."

"Annabelle?" Tristan asked more out of courtesy than worry.

"Staying with friends." Elspeth smiled. "So it seems it's just the three of us."

"What a pity." Tristan spat sarcastically as they sat down at the beautiful table.

Dinner managed to come and go without notation, Rory and Elspeth got on quite well. But it was obvious to Tristan that his sister took seldom used care not to embarrass the younger girl. For once Elspeth didn't make use of her observations. Perchance it was Rory's seemingly reserved nature redeemed her to the older girl. It was clear to her why her brother cared for Rory; she was rather witty in Elspeth's opinion, and almost always had some come back for every quip Tristan sent her way. However, there was something more to her than the other girls of society that Tristan was drawn to in the past. Perhaps this was what made Tristan care more than usual. Far more than usual. But only perhaps. At the end of the dinner, Elspeth excused herself, muttering something about an old friend she had to see, leaving the two teenagers alone in the cold empty house.

"Sorry about everything falling apart Mar," Tristan mutter apologetically, though somewhat glad she hadn't meet his parents.

"I liked Elspeth, she kind of like you, only nicer." Rory joked, lightening the mood.

Tristan smirked, wrapping an arm around her waist, "Nicer than me? Is that even possible?"

Leading Rory into the living room, Tristan flipped on the TV channel surfing mindlessly. Rory sat comfortable next to him, looking over the collection of DVDs before settling on Bright Young Things. Tristan let out a protest but she silenced him with a kiss. His lips were soft, and always left her wanting more. Words that were more fitting in a cheap novelette. Pulling away, a little breathless, she lay her head on his shoulder, watching the film out of the corner of her eye.

"I liked the film more than the book." Tristan told her just to annoy her.

Just to annoy her.

Only just.

Looking down at her, Tristan tried to imprint her face into his mind. So he wouldn't forget. She was picturesque girl, based on a variety of beauty that was more lovely than stunning, sweet as opposed to tart, truthful rather than manufactured, but mainly ever changing. She could never be figured out, and Tristan didn't even want to try.

She was lovely in every meaning of the word, and he all he wanted was to be with her.

As the film ended, Rory left his embrace and walked over to the large windows. It was snowing heavily. She shivered although she couldn't feel the cold. Tristan made his way next to her, his presents making her go a little weak in the knees. Still even after being together, he effected her like this, not knowing quite what to make of it, and him, she decided to take it as a sign of something good.

"Stay here tonight. It's not safe to drive." He stated taking her hand.

Without nearly as much fuss as he expected, she agreed.

* * *

In the chilly hallway, Rory fumbled with the mobile she hadn't quite figured out how to use. Dialing in the correct number, the number she had memorised as a child in home made clothes and pigtails, the phone rang and rang. With a slight annoyance at herself, Rory imagined her mother rushing around the house, frantically searching to the illusive cordless phone. Rory wondered why it was so easy to imagine, and why she detested the surety she felt as she thought about Lorelei's actions.

Routines.

Bells and class's.

Smiles and uniforms.

Lorelei and Rory.

As the answering machine picked up, Rory waited until the beep before shrilly singing, "Hey Lorelei, if you're at home, the phone should be in the Betty Bop vase Grandma hates-"

"Good memory mini me," broke in the breathless voice of Lorelei, "So what brings you to call your dear, wonderful, smart, beautiful mother? Surviving the meet the parent's night?"

Lorelei's voice sounded more than a little curious. More than a little something else as well. But Rory didn't bother to translate it. Maybe she couldn't. There was a silence that lingered between then even as Rory spoke. The words leaving her moth didn't change the static. They meant nothing, but Rory still spoke, and she still joked. She didn't know why. She didn't know anything. She didn't know why nothing she said meant anything, and why anything that did could no longer be articulated to Lorelei.

Rory couldn't explain.

She couldn't explain the state she was in.

What a mess.

"They cancelled. But I did get to meet his sister Elspeth. I like her, she reminded me a little of Tristan, but in a good way, not making me feel anything homicidal,"

What a lie.

But neither party called Rory on it.

No, that wouldn't do.

They were skating on thin enough ice as it was.

"That's good. I think I meet Elspeth at one of Emily's social things. For a DuGrey she was pretty cool." Lorelei stated thoughtfully, "A little unnerving, but then again she is a shark for the DuGrey family empire."

"Shark? She seemed more like one of those really intimidating polar bears, you know all pretty on the outside, dangerous when the claws came out." Rory replied with tangible pep in her slightly too cheerful voice.

She wanted to paint the sky with her voice.

But it was already grey enough.

Sensing a Rory rambling starting, Lorelei cut her off with an empty heart, somehow sensing the malevolent nature of the call, "Not that I don't like comparing people to animals, but what do I owe the pleasure of this call for?"

"It's snowing."

"Yeah," Lorelei muttered almost dreamily as she became distracted by the sight outside her home, "Isn't it pretty."

Then Rory snapped Lorelei back into the land of the focused and anxious, with her next words.

"And dangerous. The streets are all icy, Tristan said I could crash at his house tonight."

Lorelei paused, not knowing what to say. What was she meant to say? She couldn't order her daughter home despite wanting too. However, neither did Lorelei want Rory to stay under the same roof as her charming blonde boyfriend. Lorelei had seen the way he looked at Rory, with slate eyes that mocked Lorelei's suddenly feeble attempts to keep Rory safe from the society set of the rich and the dammed. But stuck between a rock and a hard place, Lorelei knew the answer as well Rory did.

This call was one made only out of courtesy, not for any real permission to be granted.

Reality was quite a bitter pill as the song stated with mocking wisdom.

"I guess safety is a good idea."

Bitter words on her tongue to match the bitter pill.

"Lorelei . . ."

"You and Tristan. You understand why I'm worried." Lorelei stated only for the purpose of stating the unsaid words that floated around each of the two Lorelei's uneasily.

This wasn't what Lorelei wanted, and what hurt her more, was the thought that maybe Rory wanted this . . . this opportunity.

"He won't do anything I don't want. He's a good boy."

Good boy?

Far from it.

Even as Rory felt the words leave her lips she knew they were lies, but to her credit they were only half lies. She knew, and she trusted that Tristan would never do anything like her mother was suggesting in her thinly veiled comments, but Tristan wasn't the 'good boy' she had almost jokingly described him as. He wasn't . . . he wasn't that simple, or easy to figure out, and nor was she Rory was beginning to accept.

At the other end of the line, Lorelei snorted in disbelief, "You really trust him don't you."

"He's a good person. But you don't have to trust him, you just have to trust me." Rory said, easing her mother's worries. Or trying too. Lorelei was Rory's friend, that's how there relationship worked, but when guys were involved, guys like Tristan, Lorelei was a mother, not a friend.

Well, that was how it was meant to work.

But everything had been so . . . different and uncomfortable in the last few months, and Rory felt ignorant and childish for believing she and her mother could have the so called easy relationship again. Lorelei, much to her distaste and her continual denial, was far too much like Emily for Rory to even pretend to ignore. Both Emily and Lorelei got what the wanted, and lived in the lime light through everything. Rory . . . well, she spent her time on the sidelines, or rather, she used to, now it seemed like she was on a different stage set to the competition the remaining Gilmore Girls' emotive Broadway show.

"I do, it's just I don't want you to do anything you'll regret. I know you're smart, smarter than I was at your age, but you're young, and you've got some much time."

Rory was meant to be smarted, she was meant to be the reloaded better version of her mother, but all Rory could feel was overwhelming exhaustion at fulfilling the goals people had set for her. She loved her mother, and she loved her family, but she was tried, and wanted to rest her eyes for a moment before continuing along the path she had been given.

"I'll be home tomorrow, and Tristan won't try anything without my permission. Good night Lorelei." Rory said, ending the conversation before Lorelei could start in on her patterned lecture about bad boys.

"Night my beautiful only child." Lorelei replied to the dial tone, her eyes wavering and listless as she tried to figure out how she had lost her daughter in the few months since everything changed. They were best friends . . . they were meant to be best friends forever. This was just a glitch she decided looking down despondently to the phone cradled in her hand.

Just a glitch . . .

* * *

He was watching the ice.

The slivers of winter sliding from the sky.

Feeling her presents moments before he saw her, Tristan bridged the distance, kissing her temple softly. "So it's all settled?"

"Yeah," Rory mumbled distractedly as Tristan laid fragile fleeting kisses along the column of her neck.

"That's good," he whispered as he reached her jaw.

Cradling his jaw in her hands, Rory brought him closer, gazing a light momentary kiss on his lips, she smiled dazedly. Under her touch she could feel his pulse speeding up, dancing and racing. His eyes were so clear, and gleaming Rory felt her knees buckling, and her skin heating under his firm yet gentle touch.

"Dance with me?" she asked him in the overwhelming silence of the mansion.

For a moment he looked surprised, but he said nothing, just leading her to the ballroom. The room was ornate and smelt of cigarette smoke from the last time it had been used. Guiding her body effortlessly, he led her in a dance without music or song. Humming in her ear a song she loved but never knew the name of phrases of beauty flittered past her ear.

"You're lovely." He told her in the soft lighting, his eyes telling her everything he couldn't voice as of yet.

Leaning down, he kissed her, his tongue dancing in her mouth, just wanting to be close to her. Her hands slid up the back of his shirt, tracing the defined muscles, and the silken skin. He followed her actions, but slower, not rushing for things that still needed time to happen. They both still needed time. Her satiny hair brushed on his skin, with one hand he threaded his fingers through her locks, as if afraid she might disappear if he let go.

"I think you're more stunning than lovely," Rory whispered to him as she pulled away to catch her breath.

He merely smiled enigmatically at her, tightening his hold on her, until he was satisfied.

She didn't feel awkward or terrible, or wrong.

She didn't feel like a pale skinned girl amidst the splatter of sound and mess of colours.

Lightly marking the pressure points on her neck, Tristan kissed the hollow of her throat, his hands shaking a little as she let out a gasp of pleasure. He planted a string of kisses down her neck, along her shoulder, holding onto her not for a moment even considering pulling back.

"Bedroom . . ." Rory told him and asked him in one word.

Told and asked.

Asked and told.

Too lost in the sensation of being with her to think rationally, Tristan started leading her to his room. Through the winding passages, marble floors, and crystal chandlers, until they reached the old library that was now his room. As his fingers skimmed along her ribs, causing her to breathe shakily, almost shivering as he touched her, he was brought back into reality.

"Rory? Are you sure you want this?" he asked, making sure he was looking into her deep cobalt eyes.

Slate against cobalt.

Electric yet hazy, glassed yet alive eyes articulated themselves.

"I want this, I want you. This isn't about our families, or friends, or anyone else. It's just us," she told him steadily although an undercurrent in her tone should have warned him otherwise.

Then with one simple gesture, reached a hand behind his neck to draw his lips to hers.

As she worked on exploring the texture of his lips, her free hand came up between them to rest against his chest. Her fingers curled, then flattened, and moved even higher to grip his shoulder. Slowly, she traced a pattern on the back of his neck and was rewarded when his hands, suddenly came to rest on either side of her hips. She was afraid of everything that was happening, but she wanted him, and she knew he wanted her too, that was meant to make this easier right? That was meant to make her confident, or at least calm.

Meant to.

Meant to . . .

Meant to?

Undressing her gently, Tristan found himself fumbling far too often than he liked. Fumbling and failing. Luckily she didn't seem to notice or care, her hands lacing in his hair, kissing his broad shoulders, only pausing to unbutton the formal shirt he was wearing. Pearl buttons and porcelain fingers. She didn't fumble. Or maybe she did and he didn't notice.

The bed was soft, but neither of the two teenagers noticed, too consumed by the moment. Tristan took him time exploring her body, not rushing in fear of intimidating Rory. He knew it was her first time although she'd never tell him.

She was nervous, so utterly nervous. More nervous than before an exam or test so forgot to study for. Though that was a rather naïve comparison that would never be admitted. Never. Her hands were shaking more than that time she had to speak in front of the entire school the year previously in her failed attempt to win the role of Student Body President.

"Tris . . ." words whispered in the darkness struck the blonde boy, slowing his actions he looked into those dark sky eyes.

"We can stop," he told her, reciting the words he remembered, yet never recalled speaking to any other girl.

"What if I don't want to?" she told him softly, her voice sweet and translucent in the fallen light. "What if I'm just . . ."

Her words trailed off, lost within the cold depths of the house. Tristan wondered if just being around him was draining her warmth away from her. He wondered if he was fucking her up. Did it matter? He was past that. He accepted what she did to him even if he didn't understand it. He couldn't pretend she didn't matter anymore.

Pretend it didn't matter.

Pretend.

They both did.

"I'll try not to hurt you," he promised, his hands now steady, long forgotten fumbles seemed out of the question now.

"I'm being stupid," she mumbled, blushing.

She hated herself for reverting to the persona she hated seeing in women, she hated the comfort she gained by his whispered pledge, she hated herself for never questioning his assurances, for believing him when all she'd learn her entire life was to trust only herself.

He smiled that unreadable smile of his, and kissed her in a way that was so pure and tender she felt her body hum, his touches reminding her of a forgotten favourite song from decade's ago. She tried to respond, to soundlessly whisper the lyrics of that song to him. She didn't know if he noticed, but she thought he did.

She trusted him, the though scared her more than what they were about to do. She was scared of him sometimes, afraid of how close he was, how much he could hurt her, but what chilled her above all her other anxieties was the possibility that this was it. Her 'this is it', the terrifying moment of finding out something that she ignored for so long might just be true, that he might just be true, and somehow he might be everything and anything she wanted.

Everything and anything.

Anything and everything.

So, in the moment she could stop what was happening or choose the opposite, she had to decide. But it had already been made, and as he touched her, now with some of the smooth and gentle talent she'd expected from him, she didn't want anything else but him. As they slowly, and nervously slunk further out into unexplored grounds, each of them tried to hold onto the moment, now afraid of what would come after.

He called her name, his voice low and husky on her skin as he kissed along her breastbone, her skin too pale and doll like to his eyes. Tracing the lines of her body his eyes lingered on a scar on her hip, he vaguely remembered her telling him about an accident on a volleyball court. She was the chameleon beautiful, not the classic beauty or the striking face on a runway; she was, to him, simple put, lovely. That was what kind of gorgeous she was, not the sweet princess that Stars Hollow tried to make her, or the Sabrina beauty that she was envisioned as by her grandparents.

She was a lovely girl.

Just lovely.

Lovely.

Her hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer to her. Unknowingly she was forcing him to break all of his carefully set out boundaries. Unknowingly. She broke the remaining distances he created to stop himself from becoming anything other that in perfect control. He was no longer detached as she held onto him, one hand on his neck, the other on his back. His hand slipped along her spine, holding her as he eased his way into her.

What a lovely girl.

What a brilliant eyed boy.

Both of them unknowing and unaware.

* * *

**Next Chp:The fateful siren's song

* * *

**

Pausing, Rory smiled angelically at him, "And you're a good person."

His eyes seemed to widen with shock, and glimpses of panic and anger were visible. Pulling away from her touch, he muttered, "No I'm not."

* * *

Thanks Belle for betaring my fic. 


	15. The fateful siren's song

* * *

Title: Nine Months. 

Author: Professional Scatterbrain

Rating: Pg - 13

Couple: R/T

Summary: Tristan returns to Chilton, and to the game, but Rory's not playing.

Note: Tristan left later on in Rory's first year at Chilton, so therefore the whole nine-month thing works (a little hint, it's a metaphor for the fic). After Tristan left Rory formed a fledgling friendship with Paris, Louise and Madeline, and by the time senior years rolls up there good friends, well, most of the time at least. Everything that happened with Dean and Jess happened except it happened all before senior year. At the end of the year before Rory told Jess she loved him, and he left suddenly straight afterwards.

I made Chilton darker, because I found the whole picture perfect school depicted on the show nice, yet unrealistic. I tried to model it around my High School, showing the competitiveness, the cruelty, and self delusion within my environment. I go to a girls school though, so the guy thing still might take me a while to work out. Suggestions would be nice as this is my first GG fic.

* * *

**Chp 15

* * *

**

The music was loud and pounding as Tristan left the comforting side of Rory to go search through the masses of teenagers to find his friends. Flashes of Rory's dark hair, and navy silk camisole top that hugged her curves raced through his mind, but as they faded to be replaced by images of Summer he did nothing to stop the loss.

"Hey Tristan." Came her siren song, but now he was immune to it.

Looking her over, she was merely another girl to him. Long legs, designer clothes, with desire shinning through her eyes. It was then Tristan knew tonight was his chance to get back at her. Put her back in her place, to finally show her what were the consequences for messing with a DuGrey. He was the master of the game they all played, and it was time to get his title back.

His retribution was long over due.

So was her comeuppance.

Pushing her into an empty bathroom he crashed his lips down on hers, kissing her hard. His hands were rough, but her groans and guttural moans told him she liked it. She always did. Hitching her dress up over her hips, he gripped her tightly. He made sure to bruise her skin.

Rory bruised so easily.

Summer didn't, so he was forceful. He wanted to bruise her, he wanted to hurt her. As he took her up against the cool white tiled wall, he felt detached. When he was with Rory she was always pulling him closer, drawing him in, never letting him be what he was about to become here; detached. He always lost control with Rory, always breaking as she lay kisses along his jaw, and whispered his name like a secret in the dark.

"Trist," she whimpered.

He didn't lose control when Summer moaned his name though.

Sucking and licking his skin in an effort to mark him, Summer tightened her arms around his back, but before she could do any damage, Tristan stopped her. Biting her shoulder until he tasted the coppery metallic taste of blood on his tongue he heard her let out a yelp. Her eyes seemed to change as she looked into his, as she realised the tables had turned. She understood then he didn't want her to leave any mark on him.

Not even one.

As he finished Tristan pulled away with disgust. Coldly, and clinically, he cleaned up, and neatened his ruffled appearance. Slowly, she slid to the floor, her once perfect dress still pushed up her hips, and her heels half undone on her feet. Her eyes had a dazed look as she watched him leave, as though nothing had happen.

"I'll tell her." Summer threatened.

Tristan laughed, it was hollowed and unafraid, "She would never believe you. You're just the jealous slut to her Summer, and I'm the trusted Tristan."

"Bastard."

"And you're a bitch Summer. But you already knew that."

That's how the game worked.

There was a winner, and a loser.

It was easy to see who played which roles that night.

Easy.

Easy . . .

Easy?

Tristan had won, and she was back where she was before she had dated him. Or maybe she wasn't, maybe she was lower, or maybe she just a messed up mess of a girl with her bright lipstick smudged and the taste of second hand smoke polluting her mouth. She didn't stand, she didn't move, but she wanted too. She wanted to push him aside, to paste an indifferent smile on her face as she moved to glare into the bathroom mirror, straightening her cloths like he had straightened his, and make some meaningless comment that would match the meaningless encounter.

But she couldn't.

Because the encounter wasn't meaningless.

What a sadistic bastard.

What a callous bitch.

Couldn't those bright young things act atrocious when they tried?

Walking out of the bathroom, Tristan instantly found Rory standing with her friends. Smiling and laughing, lovely and everything mixed into one. His heart jumped, as she turned and smiled at him. Walking over to her, he slide his arm around her waist, skimming under the silk of her top to feel the warm porcelain skin that he had burned into his memory, held twined in his soul.

Kissing the base of her neck, her pulse quickened, and her breathing went shallow for a few seconds. As Summer staggered out into the room he caught her eyes, and made sure she saw him with Rory. Summer's eyes flickered and flashed with immense hared, something so potent and dangerous he almost thought he imagined the slip as she turned and stalked away. Almost. Loosening his grip on her waist, Tristan began to move away, but the light pressure of her hand on his arm stopped him.

"I'm tired, will you drive me home?" she asked softly, her voice sweet and alluring with it gentility.

He nodded, unable to say no to her. Following her as she grabbed her coat, and made her way out of the masses of people until they were outside in the cool late night air. Latching on to his arm she leaned into his chest then slipped around like a dancer, and grazed a light kiss on his lips, smiling the entire time.

"I should offer to drive you home more often." He mummered into her hair as he laid small, gentle kisses along her neck.

Pulling away, she linked her hand with his, and smiled a small secret grin that she only gave him and laughed, "I don't want to spoil you."

* * *

Arriving outside the cozy home, Rory gave Tristan a secret smile that he couldn't read, before inviting him inside. Walking across the lawn she pulled off her heels, and pulled the hair clips out of her hair. Tristan watched her carefully; it had become a habit of his to watch her. Reaching the door, Tristan smirked at Rory, before laying a deep kiss on her lips leaving her dizzy and weak-kneed. 

"I'll see you soon."

"Lorelei's at a conference this weekend.' Rory told him, letting him read between the lines.

A talent of the younger set.

"Ror, your town is like the Italian Mafia, they know everything. They are the sole reason phone companies make so much money. Once one person knows a secret, every knows five minutes later."

Pouting almost too saccharin sweetly, she spoke again, "I could say you were sleeping on the couch because you were sick, and me being the Good Samaritan couldn't let you drive all the way home with you being all green around the gills, cause that would just be unsafe, and I could never let a nice person I like be in an unsafe position-"

Tristan cut her off, "There's a reason I'm know as the Evil One in this town, I'm sure everyone is just waiting for me to lead you into temptation."

Smiling, she laid her hand on his chest, and whispered coyly, "What if I lead you this time?"

Gulping, Tristan nodded, he found himself once again unable to say no to her seduction. Such a seduction from a lovely girl. Such a seduction to a striking boy. He was awkward and wrong as he fumbled trying to reply appropriately to her. Instead he settled on following her into the dark empty house. Silently he watched her pull a fluffy pink blanket and matching pillows out of the pantry and set them out on the couch. He didn't want her to touch him, as if she might be tainted by any remaining traces of Summer, but as Rory looked at him, with her shimmering eyes he was undone, and left to her once more.

"Just in case someone look in the windows." She told him after a beat.

Only after a beat.

"Very smart." He told her, trembling a little as he felt her fingers undoing the buttons of the soft blue shirt covering his form. Pausing until she gave him silent permission, he unzipped her top and let it float to the ground.

Distractedly she replied, "Well I am an extremely intelligent girl, comes with the territory cause of my giant brain power. You don't know how I suffer . . ."

"Woe is you," he replied almost jumping as he felt her cool fingers sliding under the waist of his jeans.

Gently pulling him by undershirt she led him into her room, and pushed him on her bed. Climbing on top of him, Rory moaned his name as his hands traced her curves. Undressing each other slowly, Tristan was losing his mind at every soft, fleeting touch, damp kiss.

As he tried to deepen the kiss, Rory broke away, and mumbled, "Slow."

Catching her eyes, Tristan waited for her to set the pace. Waited with hazy eyes. Her touches were brief, and so fragile. It was as if she was treating him as though he was glass, and at any moment he could shatter. He felt his control weaken, and his resolve break as she placed his hands on her back and allowed him to trace the arch of her spine. She wanted him, and took care of what they needed so she could have what they both wanted.

Before he knew what was happening he was inside her, groaning her name in the dark, he heard her respond as she moved slowly above him. Writhing, with shallow breathing and a light sheen of sweat, Rory was lovely to Tristan. Tenderly she kissed him, her motions removed from anything he had felt in the past, and he was lost. Misplaced among her fragile touches and hushed whispers he clung to her. His mind was more than a little mislaid as she whispered his name, and all he could do was knot his hands in her hair, bringing her closer. Everything was fading, everything had gone astray including him as she kissed him, her dark hair falling in a knotted and kinked curtain around his face.

He was lost.

He was warm, and he was reaching for her.

Reaching.

Waves of pleasure crashed over the two, as they reached there crescendo. She fell on his chest, her limbs sprawled and intertwined without any grace in the mint coloured sheets. Gradually, she almost slipped to his side. Kissing his crown, her soft breathing slowly returning to a steady constant pace that calmed him as he tried to regain his footing after losing all control. Her soft body curled into his side, and with a rush he cradled her in his arms, needing the contact probably more than she did. Her sleep hazy eyes folded and unfolded him, silently questioning, yet never voicing any of her queries.

Folded.

Unfolded.

Such a lovely girl.

Such a dangerous boy.

He was the first of the two to submit to sleep, but he could feel her eyes watching him even as his mind shut down for the night. Her cobalt eyes tracing each feature on his face, watching his as he slept. Something about Tristan's actions worried Rory. There was something about the way he touched her, as if she was going to disintegrate. Normally he always was carefully with her, but tonight he had a different sort of caution about him. Rory wondered what had caused it; it was probably the Dean and Lindsey wedding. Dean was always seemed to have an adverse effect on Tristan.

Rory wanted to believe that was it. That Dean was the underlying issue. But somehow she couldn't. She knew more about him than he wanted. She knew that he hid what he felt, but although she could translate some the unarticulated mess in his mind, he was far to complex for her ever to understand him. His secrets seemed to bind him together, and make him who he was. Or at least he believed this was so.

In his sleep his face was far from innocent. He almost seemed restless, as if ready to awake at the first signs of disturbance. In her small bed she traced her name onto his skin, soon at an impasse between consciousness and unconsciousness, with her mind half awake and half asleep. She wanted to understand him, and to some extent maybe she did. An unacknowledged truth perhaps. Or maybe it was acknowledged.

She didn't know.

But something was off, and she could feel it, even now with his breath skating across her collar bones. Something had altered between them, and the feeling of unease whispered in hushed tones to her as she lay among her childhood toys and the slate eyed boy. She didn't know what to do. She was clueless. So it was easier to pretend. To ignore the feelings that were seeming through her veins. It was easier this was. It was only then, only when she'd given up any hope of deciphering him, did Rory allow her eyes close, and let her mind drift into a deep slumber.

But like Tristan it wasn't a restful one.

As much as she wanted to ignore what she felt, she couldn't.

But that didn't mean she didn't try.

* * *

It was the dim, hazy light that greeted Tristan as he was jolted into consciousness. The sleeping form of Rory clung to him, her soft scent on his skin, and the even breathing being the only sound in the otherwise empty house. She mumbled into his ear, riddles and codes, random splatterings of words. It was early, and the soft light seemed to illuminate too much. 

Her cobalt eyes opened as she felt his hand skin along her form, tracing patterns on her skin idly. She smiled that smile that made his heart skip a beat or two; then rested her head on his shoulder. She smoothed a kiss into the crook of his shoulder. Perhaps it was tangible tenderness in her motions, but something was startled in him. Not quite used to her gestures. Not quite used to her. No words were spoken, nor were they needed at this point.

Both parties content with the situation at hand.

Tristan seemed calmer this morning, more resolved as Rory gazed at him.

His strength was visible in his eyes as they stared, focusing on something in her room.

"Morning Mary." He mumbled kissing her temple softly.

Smiling, she stretched like a cat, hearing Tristan catch his breath for a second, her smile widened, "I thought I stopped being a Mary to you,"

Rolling on top of her, he caught his weight on his elbows, careful not to crush her, "You'll always be my Mary. Well, unless you finally decided to do that thing involving-"

Laughing, Rory cut him off, "Idiot."

"You're not nice, did anyone tell you that?" he teased moving back to her side so she could breath freely again.

Pausing, Rory smiled angelically at him, "And you're a good person."

His eyes seemed to widen with shock, and glimpses of panic and anger were visible. Pulling away from her touch, he muttered, "No I'm not."

Surprised by his reaction, she placed her hand on his arm, trying to pull him back to her, "Yes you are. There's a goodness in you that will never go."

Breaking away from her hold, he pulled on his clothes hurriedly, "I'm not good." He said more to himself than to her. "I'm not."

Slipping on his shirt that he had forgotten in his rush, Rory followed him out of her room, unsure of what was going on. Tristan had never reacted like this. She found herself unable to read him. Like an outsider she watched him move, trying to get away from her as quickly as he could.

"Tris?"

"Not now Ror, just . . . just, I need to go." He told her, his eyes looking everywhere but at her.

Flashes of slate and mussed blonde hair seemed to add to his state of being. He was rushed and chaotic. She felt like she was scrambling to catch hold of him even through she was stationary. She didn't understand, and she felt useless and desperate as he zipped his pants, and grabbed his shoes. It was like she was sectioned off from him, like a bystander watching the scene play out.

"What's wrong?" she asked tentatively, knowing her words had sparked off his actions.

"Nothing, I'll see you at school Monday."

Then he left.

Then she was along.

Alone once again.

She heard his car start, and drive off, leaving her standing, dressed in his shirt in the middle of the living room. Wrapping her arms around her chest, Rory warded off tears, knowing instinctively that something was defiantly wrong.

No longer was something 'off.'

No longer could she ignore the unarticulated.

* * *

**  
Next Chp: The only constant is change

* * *

**

"Don't ignore me," she whispered, her voice becoming lost by the time the remaining murmur reached the ears of the eavesdropping towns people. "You don't have to say anything but . . ."

* * *

Thanks to Belle and all my reviewers.

* * *


	16. The only constant is change

* * *

Title: Nine Months. 

Author: Professional Scatterbrain

Rating: Pg - 13

Couple: R/T

Summary: Tristan returns to Chilton, and to the game, but Rory's not playing.

Note: Tristan left later on in Rory's first year at Chilton, so therefore the whole nine-month thing works (a little hint, it's a metaphor for the fic). After Tristan left Rory formed a fledgling friendship with Paris, Louise and Madeline, and by the time senior years rolls up there good friends, well, most of the time at least. Everything that happened with Dean and Jess happened except it happened all before senior year. At the end of the year before Rory told Jess she loved him, and he left suddenly straight afterwards.

I made Chilton darker, because I found the whole picture perfect school depicted on the show nice, yet unrealistic. I tried to model it around my High School, showing the competitiveness, the cruelty, and self delusion within my environment. I go to a girls school though, so the guy thing still might take me a while to work out. Suggestions would be nice as this is my first GG fic.

* * *

**Chp 16: The only constant is change**

* * *

On Monday there was a lot of awkwardness between the sexes. Rory felt out of it, as the minutes flickered past she waited at his locker, unsure, confused, and missing him. An ink blot girl. She wanted to know what had happened with him, why he freaked at her words. It sounded so simple. Yet it was so complex. One query or two. 

So she lingered for him.

She waited until the class bell when.

But he didn't come.

Standing there, occasionally reaching down to pull up her knee high socks, or straightening her watch, she pretended that wasn't waiting, pretended that it was all so casual, and she didn't notice the mad mass of students walking past watching her as she waited for him. But it wasn't casual, and as she tightened the elastic holding her hair, she wanted more than anything to walk away. But she couldn't. She couldn't after forcing herself to confront him. Forcing herself out of her bus, forcing herself to move past the obvious distractions to where she had to go.

What a Dr Phil move.

Confronting him, asking for answers.

But he wasn't here.

She felt stupid and naive, embarrassed and all too young and . . . she missed him.

"Your boy avoiding you?" Summer leered as she passed, her eyes flashing with dangerous fury that Rory remembered seeing echoed in her own eyes.

Or maybe it was different.

But perhaps it was the same.

"What's it to you?" Rory found herself snapping, the words leaving her mouth like ice and glass, cutting her lips, surprising both of the brunettes, making them both recoil.

But Summer recovered quickly. She always did. She always would. Her face was too thin, as was she, but among other imperfections she hadn't really bothered to note extensively, she had managed to put together a girl that was more than half way to the perfect polite presentation that was needed in her habitat of the torn butterflies and the black abyss men. More then halfway. But not there yet.

Yet.

She didn't like to smile. She was more at home stretching her face for photographs, and stretching her limbs for other needs. She was a blank mess of a girl, covered in finger prints of people who didn't bother to handle her with care.

She wasn't sweet.

She wasn't perfect enough.

She might even be the bitch Tristan said she was.

She only seemed to smile in photographs.

A girl covered in other peoples fingerprints.

Yes, she had to recover quickly.

Or at least try to.

Or at least try to, you know, for the cameras.

"Nothing, I just find it fun to watch you waiting for him. It's a change in your routine." Summer mocked, but a crack in her shield was clearly apparent to Rory, and perhaps that's why Rory wasn't afraid of the brunette with her highlighted hair and almost neatly arranged eyes.

But maybe it was more than that, more than the hair and the slip in her shield.

Maybe it was the fact that Rory wasn't that sweet either.

Maybe . . .

"It's fun to watch you pine for Tristan too, but would me letting you know I notice your puppy dog eyes be changing routine?" Rory retorted sarcastically with a bright smile pasted onto her pretty face, before she stalked away, her footsteps joining the chaotic noise of the other students as they made there way to class.

Rory so didn't want to deal with Summer today. What was with that girl? Rory had seen how she looked at Tristan. Always under heavy eyes. Always with a glint of something Rory had no trouble properly placing. If Rory didn't trust Tristan she might have even felt nervous because of Summer's attention to Tristan. Well . . . more nervous. But Tristan was better than her, he was better than all the fakes, all the phonies, all the beautiful and damned faces and their dizzy eyes, he was himself, and over and over again he proved to her how much he cared for her, only her.

Only her.

Finding her way to her seat in class next to Paris and Madeline, Rory looked over expecting to see Louise. But the pretty blonde was missing. Louise was never away on a Monday, it was her favourite day of the school week. The day where she thrived on the gossip and news from the deceased weekend and moved throughout the different cliché in the school with a calculated ease. Or was it a practiced one? Rory didn't know. Rory never was quite sure with Louise. Madeline saw Rory's questioning gaze and sighed a little, her slim shoulders slumping in a way that seemed unnatural, as if her holiday finishing school should have removed that habit.

"Brad." She stated in one word, her raven hair slipping around the fine velvet ribbon tied tightly around her head, spilling over her porcelain face.

Paris seemed to react harshly at the name. Her shoulders stiffened, as if she was a coined spring about to shatter. Her long hair covered her face, sticking to her cheek bones and knotting itself around the badges and buttons on her school blazer. She looked like repressed energy in a person much older than she was, and with her gaze firmly fixed past her two friends and onto the clear blackboard at the front of the classroom she spoke.

"Now she'd done him, that only leaves Giles before she's fucked all the eligible guys in Chilton," Paris spat coldly. Her hazel eyes refused to meet Madeline or Rory, speaking depths that neither girl understood.

Or pretended not too.

Madeline's eyes narrowed, and her face, although restrained just like Paris,' showed her anger at her friend's flippant remark, "Why do you always have to act like a bitch Gellar? Just because your middle name is 'frigid Bridget' doesn't mean you can say shit like that."

At Madeline's remark, Paris turned, those hazel eyes of hers now choosing to meet the other girls suddenly powerful blue orbs. Paris face was cold and detached, and for a second she calculatedly examined the other girl. A girl, whom in the past had always been so submissive towards her. From her seat Rory squirmed a little, part of her told her to break in and stop this all before it got worse, but a mean part of her wanted to see what her friends were capable of, the mean part didn't want to get involved.

Or be involved.

Tapping her fingers rhythmically on her desk, Paris radiated authority, "At least my sexually history isn't document on the back of the guys toilets."

Madeline's eyes flashed with rarely seen malice, "At least it wasn't recorded on C-Span, or was that another hypocrite who announced to the world how she let her boyfriend fuck her after a night of homework? Your standards must be dropping after years of telling Louise and I to wait."

"Look where that got Louise; the lovely reputation of the sluttiest trophy wife wannabe in Hartford, or is she only a runner up to you?"

"That's enough guys," Rory finally broke in, quickly seeing how far this could really go with neither girl willing to back down.

Guilt diffused into her, and Rory felt disgusted by what she had allowed to happen.

"Shut up Rory," Paris spat, with her dangerously dark eyes flickering from Madeline to Rory, "This conversation is reserved for people who aren't oblivious to guys' bullshit,"

Madeline rolled her eyes, "Attacking Rory now, isn't that classy, feels like old times."

Paris leaned forward intimidatingly, "Now you mention it, everything is like the old times. Louise getting fucked over by drop kicks them running home crying, and you about to get used by whichever guys got the nicest car, or is it trust funds? I don't know anymore just how deeply shallow you are."

Madeline blushed, her face stained and her voice, although wavering a little, was more detached than ever before, and while gathering her few school books, she spoke with cool certainly, "You're a bitch Paris."

Standing up, she stalked away. Her jet hair glinting in the light as she sat with Summer and her group of dazzling smiles and perfect manicures. She smiled in greeting, lazily ran a hand through her hair, and made a comment that obviously was far from what had come from her moth moments ago. She didn't even look back. She wasn't one to anyway. Leaving Paris with stuttering motions, she instead of glancing at Madeline as Rory was, she instead opened her books, she begin to take notes, with her body ridged with anger, while Rory tried to disappear.

Maybe they weren't old times.

Or maybe they were.

Or maybe it didn't matter.

* * *

Rory saw Tristan at the end of the day. 

She'd figured out pretty quickly that he'd been avoiding her all day. She just didn't know why. It was like she knew, but she didn't know what she knew. She hated herself for caring, for being worried. She'd always told herself never to get worked up over a guy. In her life she'd seen how guys messed everything up. Her father and mother's relationship was a prime example of how people could continually fuck each other over. For her whole life all she'd had of her father was a half an hour phone call at the end of the week. She'd listen to him make small talk, and know instinctively that every five minutes he'd be looking at his watch to check the time. Just like she was. God, she hated how obsessed he was with Georgina, how he would talk for hours on how perfect she was, and how he 'missed' all that with his first daughter. Utter bullshit. If he wanted to be there he would have. He chose not to be part of her life. Just like Lorelei chose to allow him to make that choice.

Sometimes Rory wished her mother had run away with Christopher. Sometimes she wished that he'd come after Lorelei, and begged and begged and told her everything she hadn't wanted to hear. But, sometimes, late at night when her mind was too active and out of her tendrils of control, she wished that he never existed.

Because in the end, he was a person on the other end of the phone line who called her each week.

In the end she hated thinking about him, because it was simply easier not to.

It was easier to spend her days doing homework and shopping and not missing a person that had never been there to begin with. A person that Luke, Richard, nor any guy Lorelei dated unsuccessfully could ever be. She hated herself for longing for someone that never existed, an entity that was foreign for her, and one that Lorelei would never want her daughter to long for.

Because if she did, then Lorelei couldn't pretend either.

And neither Lorelei were ready for what came after one could no longer pretend.

Rory watched him. Once again. Just like she always did. His body was lean and liquid, his motions fluent as if he was moving through water. A glint of arrogance and mischief carefully placed in his eyes as he spoke fleetingly to friends and acquaintances, and with long even strides, she forced herself to approach him, and to join his side only after it was just the two of them left.

"Ror," he acknowledged as she neared him, his eyes glacier and painful to look directly at.

"I missed you in Legal class today," she stated, and winced at how stupid she sounded, taking a breath she spoke again, not bothering with the small talk that seemed to make up her life, "Don't avoid me,"

He didn't make an excuse; he just looked at her, his diamond eyes giving way something almost like lov-

She blinked and it was gone, fleeting and ambiguous like words of poems she was too young to understand.

"I've got swim team practice," he told her, running his hand through his thick blonde hair in a nervous gesture she recognised from the amount of time they had spent together.

"Skip it," she told his bluntly.

Coach Andrews words played out in his mind, _"I'm not going to suggest anything, as it's clear you don't want to do anything extra."_ No longer did they just seem to apply to swimming. Two things in his life meant something too him, and at the moment he was looking at the person that had abruptly taken precedent over swimming. He looked at her again, with her steady eyes, and serious face; god he wanted her. But she was asking more of him that just bunking one swimming practice and what scared him was the fact she knew it too, she was giving him the opportunity to come with her, to make them work.

An opportunity for far more than anything anyone else could give him.

She was vulnerable, open and waiting.

Suddenly acutely uncomfortable, she watched him, wanting him to speak.

More than wanting.

"I shouldn't," he replied, watching her eyes dull for second, then snap back into focus.

Walking over to him she took his keys and unlocked his car, sliding into the seats. Rory bit her lip to stop it from trembling. She didn't turn around in case he wasn't following, and as the seconds past she felt more ridicules and childish for expecting this out of him. Then a few minutes later, he wordlessly slipped into the driver's seat and took the keys from her, his fingers lightly touching hers in a way that made him something he never thought he could feel.

The drive was quiet; she turned on his radio and flipped from station to station never quite finding any music she wanted. His hands gripped the steering wheel, his eyes focused on the road while his mind raced with confusion and fear. Part of him mind yelled at him for letting things go this far, for not dumping her before things got so serious and risky for him. The other half of him just wanted her, with her smiles and stupid jokes, and mockingly deceptive innocent actions.

"Lorelei's home," she announced as they reached her street, "Let's go somewhere else."

Something always got to him when she called her mother Lorelei, from her it sounded odd. At first it fitted the image in his mind that they were more like best friends than mother and daughter, but as time pasted it worried him. Rory never was easy to understand, for mere seconds he would see parts of her she hid, and then would move back into the confusion that everyone else lived in around her. But he was learning, everything was adapting to fit her, and he just wondered what would happen after.

As they reach the Stars Hollow town centre, she took his hand and led him into the grassy park like area pulling him down to sit next to her. His fingers were linked with hers, and she moved closer to him, for some reason knowing not ever to distance herself from him when she needed to affect him.

"Don't ignore me," she whispered, her voice becoming lost by the time the remaining murmur reached the ears of the eavesdropping towns' people. "You don't have to say anything but . . ."

His thumb rubbed circles on her knuckles, her trailed off sentence weakening him more than would ever admit, "I just-"

"No excuses," she interrupted, seeing that look in his eyes that took over when he started to lie.

"Don't make me into someone I'm not," he warned her.

Her thoughts flashed back to the day after the party at her house. How he reacted when she called him a good person. She wanted to tell him again that he was, that he was decent and better than them, but she held her tongue, it was better to wait. She had known for a while how he hated parts of himself, and she wished he wouldn't, but her wishes didn't mean anything to him at the moment. So all she did was take his hand and kiss his palm sweetly and fleetingly.

"I want to understand you," she told him softly, "So don't ignore me,"

"I'm sorry,"

His second apology to her she noted. This time though it meant something more to her. It told her he would try. It didn't mean he would open up, or that she would either, but it was a start. A start they could work from. His eyes, dark slate grey, so much like his fathers and grandfather shifted and glittered under the light of the afternoon sun, and she felt herself falling for him not for the first time.

The terrifying thing about that was the certainty that she'd continue to do so in the future.

His lips were soft as he pulled her onto his lap and started laying gentle kisses along her cheekbone, and jaw line. She was shuddering under his touch. So was he under hers. His eyes fluttered closed, and her eyes followed as he brought up his hand to cup her cheek as he move on to lightly kiss her lips in way that made her feel so fragile. Every touch seemed chaste, but the undercurrent was there, they just chose not to act on it. The undercurrent was always there. After a few minutes they broke apart and she lay her head on his shoulder, close enough to his neck to feel his pulse beat steadily. From the corner of eye she saw a flash of dark hair and midnight eyes.

Jess.

He was back.

**

* * *

**

**Next Chp: Severely lacking

* * *

**

"I missed you," he stated, but as he did both of them wished he hadn't.

She broke away from his hold; her arms crossed over her chest, not reacting in the way he though she might, just holding herself back, her eyes telling him to be more careful with what he said.

**

* * *

**

**Thanks to Belle and all my reviewers.**

**Wishing all of you happy holidays with your family and friends, **

**Professional Scatterbrain**

**

* * *

**


	17. Severely lacking

* * *

Title: Nine Months. 

Author: Professional Scatterbrain

Rating: Pg - 13

Couple: R/T

Summary: Tristan returns to Chilton, and to the game, but Rory's not playing.

Note: Tristan left later on in Rory's first year at Chilton, so therefore the whole nine-month thing works (a little hint, it's a metaphor for the fic). After Tristan left Rory formed a fledgling friendship with Paris, Louise and Madeline, and by the time senior years rolls up there good friends, well, most of the time at least. Everything that happened with Dean and Jess happened except it happened all before senior year. At the end of the year before Rory told Jess she loved him, and he left suddenly straight afterwards.

I made Chilton darker, because I found the whole picture perfect school depicted on the show nice, yet unrealistic. I tried to model it around my High School, showing the competitiveness, the cruelty, and self delusion within my environment. I go to a girls school though, so the guy thing still might take me a while to work out. Suggestions would be nice as this is my first GG fic.

* * *

**Chp 17: Severely lacking**

* * *

Polished slate eyes. 

Carefully linked fingers.

With a matching smile attached to their faces.

In the cold study in his Grandfathers mansion, it felt as dead as the other hundreds of unused rooms Tristan had spent his childhood trying to grow up in. What a lark. From the dark mahogany desk Janlan DuGrey in all his splendour looked down on his grandson. Looked down with matching eyes they both shared. Transfixing eyes. What messes of men they were. Thinly veiled arrogance shone through his stance, yet Tristan stayed perfectly at ease, conditioned by many years of the same treatment he was now immune to it.

Conditioned.

Domesticated.

Domesticated to smile and smirk and to bite on command.

What a good boy he was.

Wasn't he.

Wasn't he?

"We need to talk about what you've got planned for your future." Janlan stated, his hands resting lightly on his desk, aware of his power over the tall blonde.

There, it was one of those talks, or rather lectures.

Janlan was the kind of person that spoke to people, never 'talked' to them. His opinion was always the final word on any and all topics. A higher authority in his hangman robes. He was the sort of person that would get more than pissed when at the end of his little speech someone questioned him. When anyone questioned him. But Tristan was used to the man's self-righteous crap by now, and didn't even flinch when the older man fixed his eyes on Tristan's.

It wouldn't do to flinch.

Good boys didn't flinch.

"The Gilmore girl," he started, his voice was toneless and haunting. "I don't like where your relationship with her is going."

Tristan smirked knowing it was a bad move, but he couldn't stop himself. Never could. Or was that another lie to go with the rest? Besides, what could the old bastard find wrong with Rory? She was exactly what they wanted. An ideal, or at least a half decent attempt on one. On the outside at least. The outside was what mattered. To older slate eyed boy at least. Added to that, was the nice deal her Grandfather had going on with the DuGrey industries. She was their image of perfect for the present five minutes, and in knowing that Tristan knew the most Janlan would give his Grandson was a slap on the wrists.

Even the most domesticated ones needed reinforcement every once and a while.

Once and a while.

"You can fuck her all you want, but just remember, she's not the marrying kind." He stated crudely, his eyes hard and cold.

"What the hell is that meant to mean?" Tristan retorted, his stance defensive. "A few months ago the family was begging me to get her."

Janlan smiled that oh so familiar wolf like smile, "Get her, not fall for her. She was never meant to be permanent Tristan."

"She's not," he snapped hating how the old man was yet again interfering with his life, as if it didn't belong to him just the family name instead.

Perhaps, in a way it did.

But he's rather not think about that. Ever. No, that wouldn't do. Not at all. So Tristan ignored that fact Janlan had the power to send him away, to bring him back, all at the snap of his fingers. Snap of the fingers. Snapping for him to get back in line. Snapping at those eternal strings. Little more than a puppet in that clichéd classic with the Van Trap brats singing another chorus to his motions.

Puppet.

One whom Janlan loved to pull the strings.

"Then stop acting like she's going to be with you for as long as-"

"As what?"

"She's not the marrying kind," he repeated, "You can do what you want with her, but when your done, and you will be done with her sooner or later, you will break this . . . this thing off with her,"

"Stop talking about her like that." Tristan spat, hating how within a few calculated words Rory sounded so much like . . . like she wasn't different to everyone else in his fucked up world.

Knowingly, and expertly executed, Janlan took away everything Tristan knew about her; his knowledge that she wasn't perfect, and certainty that he felt knowing she wasn't what everybody wanted, but she was what he wanted. But Janlan twisted those words until Rory was merely a façade so much like the others in his world.

"Like what?" Janlan challenged, his face lighting up in something akin to glee, as if this lecture was another game deciding dominance between himself, and an obviously overrated opposition. "She is what she is Tristan, the sin of her family name. Don't try and make her into something better then she can ever be."

Leaning back in the uncomfortable chair, Tristan paused, his face blank of emotions as he stared across the void to Janlan's time ravaged face. Taping his fingers on the armrest, the youngest of the pair cocked his head to the side, a move that seemed mocking in its undermining effect on the older man.

Suddenly, it started to click.

What a wondrous thing.

It wasn't about her. Rory. She was nothing more than an introduction, a starting point from which Janlan would lead from. Once again, Tristan berated himself. Rising to the bait. Seems he still was more than a little green. More than a little. Leaning back, a slight smile crossing his face, Tristan paused. Lingered, smoothing his face with a well placed smile of indifference.

What a good boy.

Waiting for the right time to attack.

"When you arranged to have me sent to Military School were you happy? I bet you were, finally without the trouble maker of a grandson to fuck up the family name, you were free once again from bad press. I bet the whole time you were thinking _'why couldn't Tristan be more like Daniel'_, or hey even the brown noser son Aiden-"

Janlan cut him off, a snarl marring his face, "At least they know their place; you always had to push the boundaries. Even that bitch of your sister knows what is expected of her."

Cold wolf like eyes flashed at Janlan as Tristan reacted to the older mans words. Quicksilver words that slipped easily from his mouth. Slipped and swam through the air. Hatred diffused through Tristan's veins as he looked at the head of his family. What a pity Elspeth wasn't detested anymore. What a pity. The slate-eyed men stared at each other, one with fury racing around his mind, the other waiting to pounce.

"I know what's expected of me as a DuGrey. I charm people that you need charmed, I get everybody to trust me even when they shouldn't. I'm exactly like you, or I'm going to be, in a few years." Tristan stated sarcastically, with something about his sharp posture betraying the undercurrent of potential violence in the teen.

He stated the words with defensive flippancy, as if they were a joke.

Ironic really.

"You know nothing." Janlan spat.

"Nothing? I know enough. After all DuGrey's are known for their perceptiveness, or is it there-" Tristan smirked as Janlan cut his almost lazy voice off again.

"This is why you need to break it off with the Gilmore bastard child. You're forgetting your position in this family, and in this society."

He wasn't forgetting. That was the thing. Rory was Rory. But she didn't change things. She couldn't just snap her fingers and make everything better. She wasn't some miracle bandaid, and nor did he want her to be. She was just as missed up as he was, if not more.

Perception was a funny thing.

Sitting in the arm chair, facing those achingly familiar slate eyes, Tristan stopped fighting for her. Because in the end she wasn't worth it. No, it wasn't that. It was more like, in the end this fight wasn't about her. It was about the supposedly bigger picture. A picture both pair of slate eyes refused to articulate directly. It was better to go back onto autopilot. To sprout some of the same lines, and some of the same smirks.

It was better this way.

It always had been.

So Tristan forgo any useless heroic, returning to the relative safety of knowing euphemisms and smirking smiles, stating with definite cheek, "As what? Your lapdog? I always thought that was fathers' position, or was that handed on to Daniel along with the control of the company?"

Janlan responded with the appropriate level of expertise, "You should look up to Daniel as an example. Annabelle might not be ideal, or what I would have chosen, but she is one of us, she plays her part, and he plays his. Even Elspeth got over her inept choice of a suitor and is back on the right track."

"Elspeth loved him."

"Maybe so, but he didn't love her,"

"Thanks to you he never got the chance."

"Don't make this about Elspeth, she made the correct decision, but you, unlike her, haven't. However that will be rectified."

"This isn't about Rory is it? It's about me, and how I'm not the nice little puppet boy that can be controlled anymore,"

Tristan almost laughed. Going round in circles. They were dogs chasing there tails. Spinning wildly in circles. Going over the same ground. Almost like a bystander, he watched Janlan shudder with carefully controlled power. Or was it fury. Cold, cold eyes. Wore skin, and neatly controlled hair. What a controlled image. What good boy he'd become over the years. Not a flicker or flutter of bad behaviour left in that one.

That would not do.

Not for a person like Janlan.

No, it would not do.

"You can be controlled." Janlan threatened, his hands linked together, fingers woven evenly.

He leaned back in his chair, a slight shadow of a smile crossing his face. Boys like him always had a few cards up their sleeves. It wouldn't do to be caught unprepared. But it seemed like he was in a way. Tristan was slipping insidiously through the barriers that had been constructed with upmost care. He was getting better, and Janlan was losing some of his control.

"Are you going to send me away again?" Tristan mocked, "Sign me up for the US Army? I'm sure you'd love that."

Janlan with his eyes as black and painful to look at smirked a dangerous smile, "Don't tell me you love the bastard."

He got some of his control back as he saw through Tristan's mocking.

Such a green boy.

Tristan paused, his body stiffening, his eyes now mirroring his grandfathers', "Don't presume to guess what I feel towards Rory."

Dangerous eyes.

Dangerous boys.

"You do! God, at least Elspeth wasn't as simple as you to think it could actually work out. This is my last warning Tristan, you leave her, or I will-"

Tristan cut the old man off, "You can't do anything. You have no power over me. I'm eighteen; I don't need you or the DuGrey name."

Janlan laughed as if Tristan had said something hilarious, "Grow up Tristan, you are what you are, and you can never alter that in any way. You will always be a DuGrey, and you will always be under someone's control, if not mine then your fathers."

"No wonder so many people detest you," Tristan commented almost idly, a false calm in his voice as he leant back into the chair as if the older man's comments meant nothing.

A smile graced the handsome face of the older version of the young boy, "Given time Tristan, your potential may be realised. I never had this much trouble with Aiden, so maybe your life will amount to something."

The air in the spacious office crackled, and Tristan tried to regain his footing. They had been dancing around the point he suddenly realised, and Rory was nothing more than a means to an end. Means to the end. Stupid boys and their toys. He knew what this meant, he knew the plan now; he knew what was coming and how he would lose himself. Another game to play? Or was it already being played? Set, game, match? All the pieces started to fall into an order he detested for not seeing earlier. The arrival back to Hartford society, the family appearances, the simpering faces welcoming him back to the fold. He was being preened into Janlan, the challenger for the original DuGrey heir. Those matching slate eyed DuGreys. What a pair. Daniel's faceless face swum before Tristan's slate eyes, then Elspeth's lost smile followed by his parents' stale conversations, and then finally Rory's electric aura drawing him constantly closer to her.

He pushed those images out of his mind.

They were nothing, and so was he.

Just a slate eyed boy in front of a slate eyed man.

Standing up, Tristan nodded to the old man, his eyes now hard and painful to look at, "I'm not you,"

Laughing once more, Janlan stood looking the boy in his eyes, and stated confidently, "Not yet."

Yes, this game was already underway.

Yes, it was.

Slate eyed boy and men.

Sooner or later it would be won and lost.

The means to an end, the battle won and lost, oh that matching slate eyed pair.

Midnight eyes.

Another midnight mistake.

Another cliché.

Another mess.

* * *

In the warm town of Stars Hollow Rory felt cold. She shivered. Bones that once turned to water were now ice. She didn't care. Detached and disinterested, and she wondered why she didn't feel anger running through her veins as she saw Jess's face waiting for her outside her bedroom door. The leather jacket he stubbornly wore each day looked a little worse for wear, and the corners of his eyes wrinkled in rarely seen nervousness. Or perhaps it might have been just a reaction to seeing the girl he had run away from after she proclaimed a most precious gift to him. 

Perhaps.

It was another cliché after all.

"Your mother let me in," he told her stiffly.

Jess's mocking referral of Rory's mother as 'Lorelei' was gone Rory noticed, her mind flashed back to the way her mother would grimace each time the rogue called her by her birth name in that insolent tone. Insolent tone, from a dirty mouth he didn't kiss his mother with. But that was gone; it had vanished from his tone. Rory wondered if he was trying to make it up to her by being this unnaturally polite. Which 'her' Rory was referring to, either Lorelei or herself was still unknown in her eighteen year old mind.

In the sweeping silence, he shifted and twitched, like a racehorse at the starting gaits.

She felt like one too, but she hid it better.

Always did.

"You want to go for a walk?" she asked finally after a period of heart breaking silence.

He nodded; then offered a hand as she got off her textbook covered bed. Close to him after all those months apart, she was surprised that he still was the same. Still had the same eyes, the same crocked smile, and the same scent of leather and cigarettes. But it, and him had lost a lustre, all she could think of as he linked arms with her, was Tristan's perfect smile compared to Jess's faulted one, and the untranslatable slate eyes she had just began to read compared to the other boys eyes with emotions fleeing like rabbits through the deep brown irises.

Decrepit irony that was born too slow.

She didn't know what to say. She didn't know why. He used to be comfort and freedom combined. He used to be her tranquiliser and her no frills adrenalin rush. He used to be time consuming wishes and desires. He used to be everything. But now he was lacking, and she found herself longing for something she couldn't name nor articulate. The sameness of everything scared her, scared her with the distance she felt, and the detachment that now haunted her as she walked by his side.

She was useless and she wondered if he noticed.

She wondered if anyone noticed.

"Where were you all this time?" Rory asked already knowing the answer to this question and all the others she would ask following.

What a good girl, asking all the right questions.

"I stayed with my father in California." He told her, his voice lost to her, sounding foreign to her ears, "But I came back,"

She nodded. She knew what had happened, could guess the circumstances that lead him back to Stars Hollow and a room above Luke's dinner. He probably had a fight with his father, a disagreement with both parties too stupidly stubborn to apologise. Jess would call it pride of course, but she now saw the stubbornness they both shared.

"I missed you," he stated, but as he did both of them wished he hadn't.

She broke away from his hold; her arms crossed over her chest, not reacting in the way he though she might, just holding herself back, her eyes telling him to be more careful with what he said.

He agreed, weakening to her like almost always.

Old times.

"How have you been?" he asked awkwardly.

He was not used to leading conversation with her, nor with anyone else. He felt himself fumbling, and he detested it and himself. Nothing that left his mouth was right, and with each meaningless nothingness of words, he felt useless, and the awareness of that fact unsettled him. Unsettled him more than he liked. Deficiencies were sharply noticeable in this light. Among other things. Blue eyed girl and the brown eyed boy. One of the brown eyed boys. He struggled to control himself. She was always better at that. Always. She ran a hand through her hair, not watching him anymore, but he knew she was aware of him. Always. But now it wasn't enough. He forced himself to be careful. In his past he had always relied on people being drawn to him, those who weren't, in the past hadn't been worth the effort of going after.

But here, with Rory he had to try, he had to at least try.

Had to at least try.

Had to . . .

"Same old." She noted, her cobalt eyes never meeting his.

"You've changed," he noted wondered what had happened to her and everyone else after he had departed from their lives all those months ago.

He took her in slowly, trying to adjust his memories of Rory to the girl that stood before him. She was taller, she walked differently, as if not accommodating for other people, leaving them to move to let her through. Something had shifted in her. She seemed less like the innocent girl he had left, silently he mourned that loss, but paused seeing new wisdom in her eyes.

His words seem to wake her; meeting his gaze she asked wordlessly why he was back in her life, the one he had left so easily long ago. He looked away after a moment, digging his hands into the pockets of his jacket. A causeless boy, he was just as useless as she was. No games or cars to crash now, only silence filling the air. For a time it had felt like he was the only one that had really known her, but now it felt like he hadn't even come close to scratching beneath the pretty varnish glazing her. She half wanted to whimper for him. Whisper for the touch she knew so well, for the boy who wasn't as street smart as he pretended, for the boy who was far more fragile than her.

Far more fragile.

Leaving her before she could leave him, he was a defensive boy, always on the alert. Always fighting a battle he consciously or unconsciously chose to lose. A heart breaking boy that she . . . that she. Well, they both knew what he'd been to her. Both knew how little things like that mattered.

The both knew how little a good girl and a bad boy meant to each other in the long run.

She wanted to do something, to say something, to give him something true and free from lies.

But she couldn't, all she could do was watch.

Watch, restricted to the role of a bystander.

She felt dire and dreadful, and all together to out of place.

What a waste of such a good girl and such a bad boy.

Jess's pace as he moved now seemed unbalanced, without any of the grace she had become accustomed in seeing from Tristan as he descended, always with a combination of fluidity and grace that left Rory's bones feeling like water. But Jess's actions brought her back to the image in front of her as she watched him in faulted 'rebel without a cause' actions, light up a cigarette, the smoke like poison as it infected the air she breathed in.

"What you said, back, on that day I left . . ." he started.

"Jess, don't," she whispered, not needing the recap.

"No, I have too." He told her, his arm raised a little as if to halt her words, "No one has ever told me they loved me . . . no one that mattered anyway,"

Seeing the gazebo she leant on the structure, her pose too much like someone else's for Jess's comfort. Her eyes were sad. Or something a long those lines. Sleep deprived loveliness perhaps. He wondered if she still loved him, or if he had fucked this up too much to ever fix it. Rory was the only girl that had come close to . . . to what?

He hadn't believed in love before her, he hadn't believed in much before her.

"You can't just do this to me Jess," she stated softly, her tone betraying the weariness her eyes hid to perfection.

"Back with the long haired fool are you?" he asked sharply, "Should have guessed,"

Pulling her coat tightly around her form Rory paused calming herself, she had learnt by now when to speak, and when to wait, "Dean's getting married to Lindsey."

Jess laughed, "I always knew he'd marry the first girl that fucked him,"

Flashing eyes greeted Jess's comment, "Dean is happy, he loves her."

"Sorry," Jess mumbled in a way that Rory somewhat believed, "I'm glad he found someone,"

Rory nodded, her action taking Jess by surprise, he didn't know what he expected, maybe a sweet and pure ramble about the virtues of love and marriage but the blue eyed girl was silent, her hair reflecting in the light making her look exactly like that night after the dance marathon. But she wasn't the same girl, but he still wanted her, needing her to hold his train wreck life together. He still wanted her to keep his world balanced with any sort of meaning. But as she stood, carefully leaning on the gazebo, he wondered if she could ever want him like she used too.

"I saw that blonde guy you were with," he said uncomfortably.

"Tristan," Rory supplied.

"Does he treat you right?" Jess asked in a gruff way that instantly drew a parallel with his uncle's voice.

Rory face smoothed into a smile, but whether it was genuine or not was something Jess would debate later. Her face was enigmatic though, and as she angled her head to the side she seemed to consider the question, finally giving an answer, "He tries."

Jess nodded as he remembered how the other guy touched her, every motion seemed unpractised as if he was still adapting to find the correct way to be with her. Jess wondered if that's what he had been like in the short period he had been dating her. He tried to think back to see if he had consciously tried every time he was close to her to get it as right as Tristan was obviously even unconsciously doing. He didn't remember anything other than how happy he felt when she was around him. He would hate Tristan, it would be easy, he didn't even know the guy but he could see that he affected Rory in a way that irritated Jess.

Irritated and angered.

So it would be easy to hate Tristan, much like it was easy to hate Dean, and anyone else to was allowed a place in her life that he had lost when he left her with proclamations of love fresh from her mouth. All he remembered from that day, from that very moment was the way time, his heart, his mind; everything stopped as she told him she loved him. Then in the aftermath of her promise of potential happiness the certainty of failure he felt as she waited for his reply. Finally the feeling of pavement under his feet as he turned, and left her standing with broken eyes and shaking hands. Messes of memories. Shattered and placed randomly back together.

The aftermath of Rory was never meant to be like this . . .

Three stupid little words could have changed everything.

Three stupid little words could have given him the namesake Tristan now held as her boyfriend.

Three stupid little words could have given him . . .

Her.

Three stupid little words.

Taking another drawling breath from the cigarette he watched in fascination as Rory grimaced. "I should quit,"

"Tristan still hasn't managed that," she told him knowing he needed to hear an imperfection of a guy he could easily categorise into another Dean, another guy he never felt he could he good enough to be.

She didn't know why she bothered.

Maybe it was a forgotten courtesy or a gift steaming from their limited time together.

Cocking his head Jess quipped painfully, "With you on his case I would have thought he'd do anything for you,"

Shrugging off the meaning of his comment she replied, "I don't annoy him enough anymore,"

Jess nodded a little, telling Rory that was all he could stand knowing about Tristan for the time being. Besides the half truth in what she said still roamed around her mind. She didn't ask Tristan to cease continuing another one of his bad habits. She didn't ask because one change could alter everything. She didn't ask because she knew he mightn't change and she'd be left knowing something she was happy only having as a voice at the back of her head. She disliked this worries, and tried to distracted herself. But the distraction, Jess, affected her more than he should have.

"I'm sorry, about everything-"

Rory cut him off, suddenly too tired for all this shit, "Don't Jess, please just don't."

He kicked out sending a stone flying along the ground. He didn't want this, he would rather have her angry or crying, instead of telling him not to apologise for what he did to her. She was meant to yell like her mother did when Luke did something stupid. Rory was meant to scream, and he was meant to go back to his bed above Luke's dinner knowing just how much he had hurt her, but instead he was left with silence and her pleas to let sleeping dogs' lye. He knew instead of going to bed knowing how badly he fucked everything up, he'd only go to bed feeling everything he knew never would have felt if he stayed and gave her the reply she wanted.

"I need to," he stated, his eyes boring into hers, emotions leapt between the two.

"I don't," she answered starkly, her tone telling him everything he couldn't see.

Pausing he threw the cigarette on the ground, the ashes straining him with there scent in a way that Luke would notice the moment he walked into the dinner. Rory stilled, her body stiff and fragile at the same moment, striking an unhealthy discord.

"Okay," he conceded, "But at least let me walk you home,"

He didn't wait for an answer, leading her back to the house they had left an hour ago. The air was colder. Both parties knew this, them, it all, wasn't finished yet. Events and incidents were still being written and Rory was chilled to the fact she was once again out of control. Jess watched her from then on, trying to memories the person she was becoming without anyone's help.

It wasn't finished yet.

So many loose ends for the blue eyed girl and that brown eyed boy.

So many loose ends

* * *

**Next Chp: Ruined control**

* * *

"I'm in control, I'm in complete control of myself," she told him, her words sounding hollow as they left her mouth. 

"Just like I am?" Tristan retorted with mocking truths she didn't quite understand.

* * *

Thanks to Belle and all my reviewers (especially Smile1 who always gives the best reviews; they always brighten up my day). Sorry about the wait. University got in the way.

* * *


	18. Ruined control

* * *

Title: Nine Months. 

Author: Professional Scatterbrain

Rating: R

Couple: R/T

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

Summary: Tristan returns to Chilton, and to the game, but Rory's not playing.

Note: Tristan left later on in Rory's first year at Chilton, so therefore the whole nine-month thing works (a little hint, it's a metaphor for the fic). After Tristan left Rory formed a fledgling friendship with Paris, Louise and Madeline, and by the time senior years rolls up there good friends, well, most of the time at least. Everything that happened with Dean and Jess happened except it happened all before senior year. At the end of the year before Rory told Jess she loved him, and he left suddenly straight afterwards.

I made Chilton darker, because I found the whole picture perfect school depicted on the show nice, yet unrealistic. I tried to model it around my High School, showing the competitiveness, the cruelty, and self delusion within my environment. I go to a girls' school though, so the guy thing still might take me a while to work out. Suggestions would be nice as this is my first GG fic.

* * *

**Chp 18: ****Ruined control**

* * *

Amidst the polished marble and carefully planned lightening, they lay side by side.

Hidden, in a renovated library, she closed her eyes, and breathed him in.

But he was the one that pulled her closer. Closer and closer. Her breath warm on his collar bone as she lay next to him, and her hands warm and gentle as she traced her name on his skin. Her face was open, and lovely, and Tristan tried to remember the first time he saw her. He expected the memory to be clear as crystal. But it wasn't. No more than a fuzzy recollection of innuendos and pitiful retorts from her, intermingled with her in the Chilton uniform filtered back into his mind as he thought about that day she had barged into his ordered life. But things like this; her in his arms, her body warm and comforting, he remembered with clarity.

But then she moved, and the moment was lost.

All was lost.

Wasn't it ironic?

Wasn't it?

"I'm late," she mumbled as his Grandfather clock sounded out the hour, lazily she stated, "Dinner with Grandparents,"

Her voice brought him back to the living, turning to face her he took in her bruised lips, the marks like roses commencing at her neck making a path downwards, only adhered from sight as she buttoned up her white shirt. Such a white shirt, crisp and clean with lace around her thin wrists. Wasn't it a pity? She didn't look like such a good girl anymore. He smirked. Then he kissed her neck again, lightly touching her pulse, only to smile as he felt it racing. Pulling away from him, she shrugged a jumper over her head, and ran a hand through her wayward tresses.

"You should invite me along sometime," he teased, the irony of the situation bring a smile to her face.

He would never be liked or accepted into her life by either Lorelei or the Grandparents he had only meet as 'Janlan DuGrey's grandchild', not as 'Rory's boyfriend'. The different between the two titles was obvious. After all, girls like her, girls with more hope resting on her shoulders than health didn't need a boyfriend like him. Girl like her didn't need anything other than an acceptance letter to an Ivy League school, a graduation certificate, and a ticket to Europe. He detected sadness in her cobalt eyes as she smoothed the black silk skirt over her hips, the material reflecting in the light.

Blue silk.

His mind flashed back to that night with Summer, and how warm Rory felt as he slid his hand under her flimsy top. He wondered if she still though he was good, if she would think he was worth saving if she knew what happened that night. He looked away from her, averting his eyes from her willowy form.

Should he regret what he did?

He didn't like the lump in his throat. He didn't like the pause, the hesitation in each moment. Summer deserved what she got. That's what girls like her deserved. Thinking she could play his game better, thinking she could take on the house? He didn't regret hurting Summer, it was an awful truth that lived in his mind, but . . . he didn't like he it felt with Rory, as if he was carrying a weight around that no one else could see.

As if Rory was better than the desire to give Summer her comeuppance she so sorely deserved.

Clinical analysis was failing him.

But he pretended not to notice that fact.

Bring her back closer to his body, he smiled a little as he skimmed his fingers along her back, under the fabric to her smooth skin. He wondered if she would still think he was good now . . . now what? Janlan's words came back to him, they tasted sick as they tried to seep on his tongue. Rory did have parts of her that were cruel, that were sadistic, but . . . she tried to focus on the good, still only beginning to acknowledging the bad that lurked within her.

Maybe that's what she brought out in him, something or someone that wanted to try to focus of the good.

Maybe . . .

"Emily's invited some people that are only there to decide my future," she mumbled, her mind flying around above her head as she unconsciously began to button Tristan's shirt, her fingers grazing the skin in a way that made him want to reverse the process she was undertaking.

Nimble fingers and footsteps writing love letters.

"Your futures already set," he told her in a way that made her look away from his searchingly painful eyes.

He laughed hollowly, eyes dizzy and blank, making it hard for her to look at him.

"I know what I want, I've always known," she snapped running a hand through her knotted hair.

She had repeated this over and over until . . .

Did the words still hold meaning?

Or were they just messes of unorganised sound?

But she didn't want to think about that.

Never did.

So he nodded, his eyes annoyingly distant as he stepped away from her giving her rarely offered escape route. She never used them with him, not anymore; he was too good at stopping her diversion techniques, too good at seeing her play people to get what she wanted.

Negative virtues they both shared.

"I'm in control, I'm in complete control of myself," she told him, her words sounding hollow as they left her mouth.

"Just like I am?"

He laughed cruelly, maybe sadly too. He could push her away now, he could stop that from happening as well. He knew which choice the family name would require, and he knew which one would lead to something better than a nameplate on a chairman of the bord office door. She gave him an unreadable look. He should have known better than directly challenging her.

She was better at pretending than he was.

After all, reading all those books gave her one hell of an imagination.

Wasn't that what they all wanted?

To think beyond the possible?

Wasn't it?

"I'm eighteen, they don't have any power over me anymore," her words desperately reminded him of what he spat to Janlan.

Oh what bright young things they were.

* * *

While Rory left for her family dinner, Tristan had one of his own.

The rarity of the occasion did not amount to any novelty, and he was unamused.

Idly hands should have been a warning sign.

The atmosphere in the dinning room was cold, and silent. Tristan sat still, holding back the urge to fiddle with his watch or at least look like there was an understandable reason why nothing was being said. His mother smiled, her teeth flashing a Morse code he could never understand when matched with her hazy unreadable eyes, eyes that he had inherited abet in a colder and uncaring form. Aiden chatted idly with Daniel about business, and Annabelle nodded at the right times and agreed with everything the two men said, always asking the sort of questions that made her sparkle and them grin at their own intelligence.

She was good at that.

Very good.

No wonder Daniel liked having her around all the time.

"Janlan said he was impressed with your progress," Aiden stated idly as Daniel turned to answer another one of Annabelle's query.

Turning to face his father, his oblivious father, Tristan paused, considering the purpose of his fathers comment. Every comment held a double meaning, and it paid for one always had to be on their toes. Clinically, Tristan examined the statement. Cold eyes and sterling silver watched him, and waited. Comments and conversation. It wouldn't be a reminder about Rory's status, or lack of, in the DuGrey world, nor would it be the disturbing hints of him taking over the reins of Janlan's formidable family empire that, although on paper now belonged to Aiden, in reality was the old mans fortune that he, and he alone controlled.

But then Frances spoke.

"Your grades are the highest in your year," Frances confirmed, her face smoothing out into a beautiful smile, showing a remnant of the girl she had once been all those years ago before Aiden, and before the DuGrey's.

Nodding, he let the words and the praise slip off his radar. Grades didn't matter, nor did the recognition that came alone with them. He wondered if he'd be getting given the same pride filled words from Aiden if he knew what subjects his son had been taking, the ones he had described as _"inadequate"_. Oxford looked for something more than Mickey subjects no matter the grades he was collecting from them. After all, he had a name to live up to, and boys like him should know that by now.

One had to be fully aware of titles.

Especially ones own.

He wondered why Rory liked her statues on the honour role, and the letter and percentages she received on each piece of school assessed coursework. Certificates and awards her mother had framed and hung on the wall, like trophy animals lining Janlan's den. Maybe Rory believed in all the hard work dedications shit take teachers dolled out at the start of each and every school year.

Or maybe it was the pleasure of knowing, even in a small way she better than the people that told her she was nothing but mistake.

Maybe she needed her routine as much as he did.

"It looks like there'll be another DuGrey attending Oxford University next year," Daniel smiled magnanimously, his face youthful with a bright smile that sickened Tristan.

"Yeah, can't wait," Tristan replied, his tone blank of emotions, yet with predatorily eyes that matched the ones Janlan wore each day, the teenage version of the Grandfather was a dangerous sight.

What a matching pair.

It seemed those eyes skipped a generation.

Janlan didn't mind the wait.

He always was a patient man.

"It'll be so nice to have all the family together again," Frances told him, her voice sweet, as if laced with sugary icing, "We were so worried about you last year, all the trouble you were in, but now, now your our darling son again,"

Suffocated.

That's all Tristan felt, as if he air supply was being cut off, and he was slowly being backed into a corner, being groomed into a person suitable to carry the name that had branded him as above the ordinary from birth. Time to smile now. Time to stop with all those childish games and start playing with the grown ups. After all, he was a DuGrey, and they always were one step ahead. So smile brightly, and don't winch.

"Janlan was right about boarding school, it really was the making of you,"

Euphemism.

Another fancy term to refer to the part of his life that had been concealed with PR agents' lies and half truths. Was this his penance, his purgatory for the sins he had committed, or was he, like Elspeth still paying for the family name?

_"With power comes responsibility," _

Rory's honeyed words drifted into his mind as he watched Daniel and Aiden start discussing their memories of Oxford. Rory had quoted those words from some book or play he had read but could no longer place with a title. Her eyes were tinted with sadness as she told him, a truth that applied to her as much as it did to him. They were born into a life they didn't choose, yet it was their catch twenty two in living up to what was asked of them. People would always be living vicariously through them, Janlan would see himself in Tristan; see his image once again control the masses, while Rory would be the person Lorelei failed to be.

Both of the teenagers had potential that would be realised, but at what costs?

What would be left after all the dust had cleared?

Janlan's eyes and Lorelei's smile?

* * *

Lorelei was working late yet again.

In her room, Rory idly listened to a new CD that Lane had lent her, while flipping through a study guide that Paris would reprimand her friend for even glancing at. One had to be original after all . . . but not too original. After all, that wouldn't do. Appropriations and glossy words got grades, not . . . not what? Rory was tired. The days was shifting into night, and she couldn't get her mind off Jess. She hated herself for acting like this, like a little girl whose crush broke her heart . . .

Or was it a little girl that should have known better.

Jess was back, and he had asked for her forgiveness that night they spoke.

She hadn't given it to him.

Suddenly unable to stay still, she threw the book aside, and pulled a jumper on and ventured outside. It wasn't late yet, but it was getting dark. The centre of town was speckled with people. Teenagers from Stars Hollow High laughed as Rory passed, and once again she remembered being the bases of all their jokes, and it seemed that she still was. Voices in the back of her mind told her to say something cruel and heartless, and it was the knowledge that she could, which pressed Rory forwards to Lane's house.

Possibility and potential could be a dangerous thing after all.

Climbing up the tree outside Lane's bedroom, Rory knocked on the window, and smiled as her friend pulled her inside. Lane was the kind of friend you don't question about friendship; she was the kind of person that was just your friend without the need for drama or angst. But she was changing on Rory, and each time she saw the raven haired girl Rory struggled to keep up with the person Lane was so quickly becoming.

It had been a long time since they had gone to the same school, and walked home together everyday.

How long had it been?

Rory couldn't remember.

Acceptance letters and neatly pressed school uniforms clouded Rory's memory.

But Lane was still her best friend, so Rory told her.

"Jess's back,"

Pulling up the floorboards to find some CD in her massive library of sound, Lane paused, her face a mix of emotions that Rory didn't expect to see.

Two words.

Two words summed up the meaning of the brown haired boys re-entrance into the Stars Hollow collective lives.

"I spoke to him,"

Lane nodded, "Yeah, I guessed you did."

"It was weird," Rory told her, slumping down in Lane's closet as she slipped the CD into the player, and closed the doors to muffle the forbidden sound of songs written by seventeen year old boys, years before anyone took notice of their band name Jet.

"He has a way of messing up stuff," Lane replied, her fingers tapping along to the beat as the music rose to a crescendo, lulling her questions for a second as she floated in the masse of tone and balance in the music.

"I have a way of messing stuff up," Rory retorted with a half smile.

"Tristan won't care about Jess," Lane stated with certainty, her eyes closed and her mind distant. Flickering them open after receiving silence from her words, Lane watched her friend try to understand what she had been told.

Jess and Tristan.

Two boys that had the ability to completely wreck her ordered life within an instant of entering it. With Jess and his cynical attitude, he seemed to force his way into her life, making everything in it seem unbalanced and left of centre. It had taken her too long to get over him, and even longer to realise she wasn't a fool in seeing something in him. It should have been easy to hate Jess, and sometimes she could, but there was something endearing about him, something more than the self destructive nature he seemed to embody. Maybe Jess was just another version of Tristan, like Rory was another adaptation of Paris. It could be the case, but for now it was easier to see Tristan without Jess's faults.

"Tristan isn't Dean," Lane confirmed with a shrug as if it was general knowledge, "He knows he has you, and Jess isn't a threat to that or him,"

"I wasn't talking about Tristan," Rory quipped as if offended that she could be acting in a way utterly too reminiscing of the previous years troubles.

Lane rolled her eyes, "Sure."

"I wasn't," Rory reinforced archly, but Lane was immune to such looks, and merely smiled laughingly.

"I have links in Chilton and Hartford Ror. Henry isn't just a pretty face," Lane joked with a secret smile Rory knew Henry had given her.

Rory wondered if Dave had given her a matching smile as well.

"How are your boys?"

Lane's smiled dulled for a second, "What if you met two people, two people that understood two different parts of you. Who would you chose? The boy that knew every band and song that ever existed, or the boy that gets where I come from?"

Culture verse passion.

Pausing, Rory considered what had been asked of her, but finally realised it wasn't her question to answer, "I think both of them could understand you, just depends which one of them you want to understand,"

Lane nodded, and smiled another secret smile, "Yes, that seems to be my choice now,"

"Both of them could love you more than anything," Rory told her, hoping it was the right thing to say.

"What if I couldn't love them?" Lane asked, "What if . . ."

"You can love either of them Lane," Rory reassured her knowingly.

Lane, like Rory, wasn't good with love. Love meant too much in their worlds. Love was too hard with mothers like their's, each demanding different things from each girl, and fathers that never seemed to be there when needed. Love, though terrifying, was possible for each of them. A blueprint of possibility? Perhaps. However it was still terrifying, and they kept their distance not promising anything until they were certain of what they'd get in return.

"And you can love him," Lane responded in a similar tone to the one her best friend had used.

Pausing, Rory considered what she had been given in those stupidly simple sounding words Lane had uttered. She could love Tristan, but she didn't know if she would. She, as much as she wanted to believe otherwise, didn't know him. She knew his habits, his voice, and the little things that made up what people saw, and what she was meant to see. But it was the other things, the fleeting looks and glances, those were the thing that made her want to understand him, to translate the untranslatable. But something was wrong, and she hadn't seen one of those fleeting looks showing anything she could understand, nor more importantly, anything she wanted to understand at this moment in time.

Translatable looks were rendered untranslatable at the moment, and she didn't understand why.

Something was wrong.

Something . . .

* * *

The calendar of social events was always full.

Just like Louise's dance card for that evening.

In the chilly black coloured blanket that covered the sky, Tristan walked with Rory around the illuminated DuGrey estate. Another social event was taking place, with people that ran the corporate world acting like drunken teenagers, waiting for a chance to gossip and ruin people they claimed to like. The tangerine satin dress she was wearing flapped lightly in the breeze, playing a complicated pattern he was more than contented to watch as he caught flickeringly fleeting views of Rory's long porcelain legs.

Placing a hand at the small of her back, he smiled a little as she moved closer to him. She hadn't planned on coming tonight, and he couldn't for the life of him remember why he had arrived at her home a few hours previously and asked her to. For some stupid, completely illogical reason he had just wanted to see her.

Need.

What he felt for her was leaving the safe regions of just wanting her. Wanting her was easy . . . well; it was easier in comparison to this. Needing wasn't safe. Safe was being able to leave her, and hurt her without caring either way. But needing her was different, needing her meant she was more than what people dictated her role be in his life. Needing Rory meant a dependency on her that he felt abased to admit. Needing wasn't healthy or necessary, it was a bad habit he had to curb. Needing her meant everything he wasn't ready to consider knowing.

Need was dangerous.

It was an unseen threat that had hid under the radar.

The sickly sweet scent of the rose garden his mother insisted on planting entered his mind, clouding his thoughts. Entering the rose garden, he pushed aside thoughts of similar nights with different girls on his arm as he led them to this very place. Different girls screaming his name in the dark night, the sound lost before it came close to being heard in the glittering ballroom in the spacious mansion. Rory gave him a look as he paused, compelling him into action in order to avoid her eyes. It was the sort of look, the sort that said something he shouldn't translate, but one too important not too.

"What's going on Tris?"

Warm cobalt eyes gazed into the cold slate of his, before he broke away, kissing her harshly, pushing her back on the lush green grass until her willing body was under his. Tracing the curves he had burned into his mind, he bit down on the base of her neck, trying for some reason to mark her physically, to mark her, abet in a different way, than she had marked him.

She whimpered a little.

Then she drew him nearer to her.

Her tangerine dress was around her hips; as he threw one of her legs over his shoulder, and allowed her to put the other around his waist, pulling him ever closer to her. Foreplay was forgotten, as Tristan dominated their actions, with a desperation that Rory would have picked up if her mind wasn't lost in the sensations of his hands and lips on her body, creating a need in her she didn't want to admit.

Slipping the straps off her shoulders, Tristan paused for a second as her hands slipped under his shirt, touching him slowly with fleeting touches that left his bones feeling like water, and her smiling that smile he loved.

She whispered his name.

As she did, he reeled back, as though she burnt him.

The scent of the sickly roses filled his head as he looked at the lovely brunette lying under him. A slightly confused looked was present in her dark eyes, her hands slipped off his body, residing on his chest, gently touching the soft fabric of his shirt, waiting for him to make the first move. Her grip loosened on his body, as he moved away slightly, leaving her unsure of what had happening, with the beginning of an understanding of everything that went on in his life that he didn't tell her about.

"I ruined your dress," he muttered.

_'And I almost ruined you,'_

The unspoken words raced around his head, as he backed away from her. It was how she whispered his name that stopped him. She was always so softly spoken, and he always allowed her to pull him closer just to hear her whisper his name in that fragile voice of hers. She was always pulling him out of inattentiveness, and into a world of warmth that only existed with her presence near him.

She wasn't Louise, and obviously, she wasn't Summer.

He had almost ruined her here in the sickly death bed surrounded by the roses his mother planted.

Rory was the kind of girl parents liked, but she wasn't the kind of girl you fucked in their bed after they left for a night with the social set. She was . . . she was someone Tristan always felt the need to treat with something akin to respect, and . . .

And he had almost ruined her.

"Tris," she whispered once more in the chilly garden as she waited for him to look at her. "Tell me what's wrong?"

With a shock, he realised she wasn't just talking about what had almost happened with them. Her words were directed at him, and he . . . he didn't know what to do. Wide eyes filled with warmth waited for his to say something, to say anything, but he couldn't say a word.

All that greeted her question was silence, and words that were left unsaid.

Taking his hand, she pulled him to his feet, and led him to his room. Going through the back corridors, she avoided the people she knew he wanted nothing to do with. She wanted to hide him from everything that was making him pull away from her. She knew he was pulling away. She could feel it even as she tightly held his hand. Something had happened, and she didn't know what to do to help him. She couldn't fix it, she knew that; this was something that couldn't be fixed, but she wanted to help.

Reaching his room, Rory tried to busy herself within the now uncomfortable silence. Something was happening to them, and while she flicked through the pages of a book neither he nor she had any interest in reading, she attempted to contain her uneasy.

It was getting late.

Her watch slipped, and the hands indicting the time were replaced by the edges of her tattoo. The one the world had never seen bar Tristan and his trusting hands. He left the room, giving her a small kiss on the cheek indicating something she didn't want to obey. Rory knew she was expected to leave, but she didn't. She refused to do what was expected of her. Although Rory understood that he needed time, she knew with stark certainty if she left tonight, the next time she saw him he'd have slipped to far away for her to ever touch him again.

She ached for him.

Slipping the watch off her wrist, she examined her wrist fully; the smooth lines of the most beautiful word, trying to remember the girl how had spent her taxi money on the ten letters that made up the message she felt a need to remember. Tristan never asked to see the word again, contented with the knowledge it was there, and for the most part, Rory didn't feel the need to saw at it like she was now.

Cellar door

Memory was a funny thing. Rory's past was filled with memories she lost the control to define which were real, which she imagined, and what she had been told. But she was who she was, a girl, the replacement, and she was . . . trapped. But not around Tristan, and she hated herself for needing him. Need was dependence, and she had not survived this long being dependant on anyone who could . . . could make her fly, but also let her crash to the ground. With snappy, jerking actions she put back her ridicules watch Emily had given her, ending her chain of thoughts before they could do any more damage.

She would wait for him though, even with the knowledge that she should have left.

She would wait, but she would later wish she hadn't.

About half an hour later he entered the room again. Dressed in loose boxers and t-shirt, he looked like a teenager not the powerful bright young thing she saw every day within the social restraints of society. She understood he wasn't a child, and had stopped being one long before she grew out of her stuffed toys and colourful hair ties. But he was . . . he was still young in a few ways that he hid from the world.

"You're still here,"

She nodded, but he didn't see. Already over by the sound system he was turning up the volume of some loud rock music, the kind that drowns out thought, and leaves the mind filled with the ringing of sound that keeps delays reaction.

He didn't want to think, and she let him.

As he lay down on his bed, she watched the powerful lines of his body tighten with unleased emotion. He didn't want her here; but still she stayed. Moving next to him, she was careful not to touch him, but she felt her resolve weaken as he glanced at her, his face a mix of beauty and pain.

Painfully beautiful.

Wasn't he a bright young thing?

"Tris?" she whispered, but it was lost within the cold marble floors and the shelves of books all while the music pounded on and on, dragging her mind out of her head at the same time as she was trying to keep her wits about her.

"Not now Mary," he told her, silently bridging the gap between their bodies as he place his hand on hers, gently tracing her knuckles.

"Tell me," she stated quietly; her words only hear by him as she grazed her lips against his ear as she spoke.

"Just not now, please,"

She nodded, and rested her head on his shoulder, closing her eyes as he turned the volume down, and turned the lights off with the simple press of a button on some expensive toy his mother had installed after another meeting with the DAR darlings. His steady breathing returned, and she waited for him to speak. She didn't think he would, she knew he couldn't but something in his answers told her that he would tell her one day, just not now.

Time passed.

The CD switched, and another one roared to life.

In the safety net of blackness, he spoke suddenly, interrupting the darkness, "I can't organise what I want to say,"

Opening her eyes, she made sure to stay still, as if any movement from her could shatter the moment he was building on his own. Something about what was happening was so fragile to Rory, and she felt his breathing go shallow and irregular as he tried to control himself and failed.

"You don't have to organise it for me," she told him, moving a little to kiss his collar bone softly.

Her small touch grounded him, holding him under her spell for a little longer than he'd ever admit.

"Next year, it'll be better," he told her, weaving a tale that both of them knew he didn't believe. "I'll be out of this place, and I won't have to . . ."

He trailed off, and Rory filled in the blanks in the silence of her mind.

"It'll be better and I won't have to . . . It'll be better," he repeated as if it was he mantra, and in a way, Rory realised it was.

"It'll be better," Rory confirmed as the song playing in the cold room reached its invertible conclusion, "You'll be free from everything,"

"Yeah, we'll both be free," he stated.

She shivered, and with a certainly she knew her mantras of Harvard and dreams of being a foreign corespondent were just like his dreams of the following year; nothing but words to keep the demons away, to keep believing that there lives would change, and they wouldn't have to spend nights reminding themselves of how everything would get better.

That frightened her.

She felt light headed.

She didn't want him to know her this well; inside and out. Some stuff was just hers, some stuff had to stay in her head, alone in the darkness with no one given the power to turn on a light and look around. She was how she was, but parts of her . . . there was stuff she didn't want him to see, that she didn't want anyone to see. But he didn't seem to notice the warning signs, and she was left wondering if she let him know too much, or if she had just given him permission long ago on the piano seat when she was just a Mary and he was just the blonde blue eyed boy that had the ability to make her stutter and blush.

His hand held hers now.

"It'll get better Tris," she mumbled into his ear, "I promise I'll try to make it better for you, if tell me something . . . anything,"

Her tone pleaded for the unambiguous answers Tristan was unable to give her. He was silent for a few minutes at her words, trying to grasp the depth of truth she had pledged to him so clearly, but even then, the words he wanted to say became tangled in his mouth before he could voice them. She was waiting for him to say something, anything, and in his silence, Tristan felt her body stiffen, as if in a defensive reaction.

"Please," Rory tried once more; somehow knowing she was pushing the line of grace they had created in their relationship.

She didn't have the perfect life; nor did she have the childhood he was deprived of. He knew the reason people from Chilton ridiculed her, the reason they never admitted to anyone; Rory, to them was perfect; she had a family that loved her, she had a mind that excelled in the structured school system, and she was sweet and nice to everyone no matter if they treated her like shit behind her back. She was the ideal, she was what people hated because she, in there eyes, got lucky, and managed to get something they denied even wanting. But that was just a facade, she wasn't even near that ideal of perfection, she had a family that struggled to see her more than her mother's replacement, a mind that she considered not halfway good enough, and a personality that wasn't even a fraction of nice and sweet that she knew people expected from her.

But what scared him the most and sent his veins on fire, was the secret knowledge that she needed him too.

"You've already made it better," he stated finally, smiling tentatively as he kissed her lightly.

She hated and adored that smile as he tried to pass off an excuse to cover hidden thoughts he never wanted her to see.

His mockingly stated words were little more than a lie, but to his credit, it was one he wanted to believe in. However it was a white lie that both of them easily recognised without any need for drama or hysterics that could have come hand in hand with there realisation. He berated himself for attempting to keep her in the dark through such an infantile method, but he knew he wouldn't tell her the truth, or anything that came close to the unattainable truth. It wasn't about being weak, it was about . . . managing to get the words out, articulating them past the stage of thoughts in the mind. He wasn't her, he couldn't give her the pass codes to some of the recesses he knew she could understand given time.

She let his hand go then.

She bit her lip.

She was suddenly glad to be surrounded in darkness.

Rory's eyes blinked and flickered, holding back unwanted and unwelcomed tears; stopping her face from showing any resident reaction to his words. She refused to become a canvas to her emotions, if she did, something inside her told her everything around her would come falling down. That, above all things could never happen; a lesson she leant the hard way. So instead, she lay next to him, in the darkness, listening to music that could only attempt to kill thoughts in her mind.

Finally, she got up, and left his room without a word.

She couldn't stay, nor did he ask her too.

* * *

**Next Chapter: Debt collectors**

* * *

"Don't," she uttered, suddenly so tired and wore out from the game they now seemed to be playing.

He didn't say a word.

"I can't do this," she found herself whispering.

* * *

Sorry about the wait - university is making me run around in circles. Once again, thanks for the review, to to Belle, my beta (I emailed you, but I'm not sure if it worked; hotmail is playing up on me)

* * *


	19. Debt Collectors

* * *

Title: Nine Months.

Author: Professional Scatterbrain

Rating: R

Couple: R/T

Summary: Tristan returns to Chilton, and to the game, but Rory's not playing.

Note: Tristan left later on in Rory's first year at Chilton, so therefore the whole nine-month thing works (a little hint, it's a metaphor for the fic). After Tristan left Rory formed a fledgling friendship with Paris, Louise and Madeline, and by the time senior years rolls up there good friends, well, most of the time at least. Everything that happened with Dean and Jess happened except it happened all before senior year. At the end of the year before Rory told Jess she loved him, and he left suddenly straight afterwards.

I made Chilton darker, because I found the whole picture perfect school depicted on the show nice, yet unrealistic. I tried to model it around my High School, showing the competitiveness, the cruelty, and self delusion within my environment. I go to a girls' school though, so the guy thing still might take me a while to work out. Suggestions would be nice as this is my first GG fic.

* * *

**Chp 19: Debt Collectors **

* * *

The slate eyed boy was greeted by navy blue clothes and block stockings as the cobalt eyed girl in question waited for him by his locker.

Head angled to the side, her eyes focused on a notice board across the hall, she looked all too nonchalant for a girl that now knew all too much about his life. A hand brushed against the locker, occasionally stopping to tap another mores code before she creased for a moment, then continued with her previous activity. Long fingers fluttering over the grey metal surface. Tap, tap, tap. Like the ticking of a clock counting down. Turning, he left before she noticed him. Slipping down, out of her eye line, he made his way over to his friends, outside in the bracing wind that whipped over his skin.

It was better this way.

It was simpler this way.

Simpler for both of them.

They were at the point he detested. It was a point he had rarely made it too, or so he though. In retrospect he perhaps would realise the one off nature of his relationship with the cobalt eyed girl. But on that day, he was just a boy, just a figure moulded for the society pages, and he followed the path he had been set. Followed a path too many other bright young things had trod.

It was easier like this.

Easier when he could turn and leave her and not be expected to be part of something too monumental for his tastes. That night at his house, with her, it made his mind fill with too many unwanted thoughts and images. Some stuff had to . . . same parts of his life were just that, his.

His, and never hers.

Matt joked and laughed, and as his meaningless chatter filled Tristan's head, replacing the images of Rory on his bed whispering him a promise she could never keep. Tristan managed to get a grip on what was going on, he managed to snap out of it. Cobalt eyes were forcibly forgotten for crude jokes about rich girls getting down on their knees for rich boys. But, nevertheless, all it would take was . . .

One slip.

That was all it would take for it all to come tumbling down.

If he told her one thing, everything else would end up being vomited out uncontrollably. Then she would look at him with those cobalt eyes and say something to cliché and meaningless like _'I'm sorry'_ and then he would know she couldn't take it, that she couldn't take what came along with his name and his past.

So he stayed away, if only for one day.

But she would notice.

He knew she would.

Yet he still stayed away, even with that certainty.

Because it was simpler this way.

It was better for both of them. Some things had to be like that. Some things were not meant to be understood, and were not meant to be brought out into the light for a through examination. Sometimes there are things that can't be discussed. Sometimes it's just better to leave things be. Rose gardens and Jaden's eyes weighted him down.

He stayed out of her way.

He didn't need her to notice it, but he knew she did.

He knew it.

But that didn't mean anything was going to change.

It would be easier for both of them this way.

Tristan was certain of it.

* * *

One of the brown eyed boys'.

Jess.

He was back waiting outside her door when Rory arrived home from school. With his weary eyes and a wrinkled school uniform she wondered if he was here to once more try and illicit words of forgiveness from her. She wondered what would happen if she said what she really felt to him. She wondered if he'd grin as if she was making a joke like nameless people from Stars Hollow High would, or shrug as if it was just part of who she was like Tristan did.

But he didn't do either because she didn't say a word.

"Rory, came I come in?" he asked, his tone was carefully pitched, as if he had practiced in front of a mirror beforehand.

'No' . . . 'not today' she wanted to answer. Her internal words resinating with a finality that was abrupt and unexpected even to her. Yet they were captured before they could escape from her mouth, and firmly locked away from inflicting any damage. Instead she shook her head, watching him turn away with a contentment that was too sadistic for her to comprehend. As if this was the punishment he'd returned for. As if this made it all alright.

Was this her payback?

Hurting him so easily like he had hurt her?

She bit her lip until it bleed.

It was so utterly easy to hurt people when you knew what buttons to push.

Easier still when Rory had been the ones to install them.

"Another time then," he stated uncomfortable in a tone that was utterly out of the character description he had handed over to her in the times they'd shared before he left.

She was silent for a moment as she struggled with the keys to open the door she knew was already unlocked. Finally she managed to open it, and slid inside, leaving him standing out on the porch, with his ravaged face and crossed arms falling uselessly to the sides of his body. His brown eyes, the ones she had once wanted more than anything were pained, and if she look back she might have regretted her action.

Yet, it was so utterly easy.

Apparently she wasn't the only one that knew these truths.

Tristan had alternated between ignoring her, and avoiding her all day. Sitting with his friends, spewing crude jokes, and cruel jabs, reaffirming his hold over the masses he commanded he had been the centre of attention. It was then she wondered what he had been like in Military School, if he was a leader, or a follower waiting for his chance to pounce and take the lead that was rightfully his. He had great potential. Even Lorelei saw it. He could be anything and everything, yet nothing at the same time, all with a smile and a few choice words.

Choice words.

He hadn't looked her in the eye since he lied to her. Something was going on. Smoke drifted, curling around Rory's mind as she tried to reason the alternatives her mind presented her with. Dismissing most before she could follow them through. Normally she could read him, picking up the change in mood from looks and movements. It felt like she had spent her life watching him, trying to memories what he was, but she still couldn't understand him.

Yet she wanted too.

But it didn't feel like she was going to get the chance.

It was that thought that drove her back to Chilton to wait for him

* * *

The school was practically empty when she arrived.

Rory was unsure, and filled with nerves. After the sudden decision to see him, she found herself confused to why she had bothered to wait the extra half an hour for Tristan to finish his swimming team practice. Returning to school after her meeting with Jess hadn't been planned, nor was she now confident in her choice to meet him. In her dualistic mind she was being told two different plans of action, but neither held any attraction as she flipped through a worn second hand Literature book making half hearted notes in the margins.

Another bad habit she had inherited from Jess.

Slamming the book shut in jerky uneven movements, Rory banished the thought from her mind. Jess had been taking up far too much head space ever since he'd come back to Stars Hollow. Half the time she was around him, she cursed him for causing her to momentarily lose all the maturity she had gained in the time he had spent out of her life, and the other half she cursed herself for feeling like a fumbling thirteen year old girl lost for the right words.

She hated how Jess made her feel.

Seeing Tristan's characteristically graceful form emerge from the indoor swimming pool, Rory dropped the book from her hands, which were now, for some reason trembling without her permission. She knew the instant he saw her, by the way he straightened his back and shoulders, as if he was facing an emissary, and Rory pained herself with that knowledge.

"What's going on Tristan?"

He gave her a look in confusion.

"Don't," she uttered, suddenly so tired and wore out from the game they now seemed to be playing.

She didn't know what she was saying. It had not been planned, it had not been practiced, and . . . she just was so tired. She wanted him to say something. She wanted him to make some comment, to push her off balance, to make her thing to make her confused, to make her rethink everything she knew. She wanted him to take her hand and lead her but . . .

He didn't say a word.

"I can't do this," she found herself whispering.

She couldn't.

He was avoiding her. Suddenly it all meant more than just him walking a different way to class so he wouldn't see her on the way. In an instant she felt sick, and she felt horrid because she knew what it meant. She knew what it meant because she'd seen it before. She had. She'd seen it with him, with Matt, with Giles, with all the other young things that circled around Tristan.

But it wasn't meant to be like this.

Slate eyes and rose gardens.

Oh, those glittering young things, what have they done?

"Tristan?" she questioned in a small voice as a his eyes darkened.

He looked down, her shoulders slumping, as if relenting. A measured distance separated them, and neither attempted to cross it. Neither had the ability to do anything that could have prevented what was inevitably going to occur. He wanted to touch her, to tell her everything she needed to hear, but he couldn't. She wanted to have stayed home, to not have needed to see him, but it was now out of her control as she faced off with him. It was all out of her control now. Spinning wildly towards the ground. Breathing out in a rush, Tristan looked up, a broken unreadable expression covering his slate eyes.

"I slept with Summer. It didn't mean anything, it was just-"

Unreadable.

She interrupted him, and his unreadable face.

Yes, it was unreadable, and even as the words past through his lips, she almost fooled herself into believing he never said a word. She wanted him to lie to her, and knew even in the back of her mind he had been lying all along. He had lied to her, just like the others. She took a step back, suddenly choking on the breath she found she was unable to take. Maybe . . . maybe she had put him on a pedestal, watching as he saw through her diversions and tricks of light. Maybe, maybe, what she had like was knowing he didn't see her on a pedestal, didn't see her as the town princess, or the proof of her mothers inability to remember to take the pill each day as a teenager.

But none of that mattered as she snapped at him.

"Just what? Getting her back for wounding your pride?" she asked rhetorically running a hand through her hair, "Grow up Tristan, stop being so . . ."

"I'm not Dean, or Jess,"

He didn't mean to say that. It just came out, he hadn't even felt the thought twisting and curling around his mind. But the impact made his stomach convulse, cobalt eyes flashed away from his slate counterparts. She didn't step away this time. She just stayed still. Quiet, and silent, watching and waiting. Folding an unfolding his words, trying to order them to holding cells, trying to delate them, but failing both tasks.

Flinching, "No, I didn't want you to be either of them, I wanted you to be you,"

True words.

But they were still hollow.

True words, one both sides.

But it couldn't be or mean anything other than the syllables the sentence contained. Couldn't exist past the one breath of air she had gifted on them. He wanted to say the same, give her the sentiment she had risked allowing him access too. But he couldn't, she was detaching herself from him, from them, and she flinched once more as he opened his mouth, as if predicting his mangled speech before he had the fortitude to articulate it.

"We can't go back, can we." He found himself stating with a finality he never expected to hear himself directed at her.

She backed away from him, hands ringing and fumbling as she tried to balance herself and regain the footing she was rapidly losing. So this was it, this was the scene her mother must have been looking forward too. In the back of her mind she wondered vaguely if any bets had been placed. How much did the lucky punter get for today's date? A small town game, a game that felt like scales scraping her skin as she thought of the entertainment her break up from the beautiful blonde boy would be for them. It was weird, it was like she was shutting down, retreating into her mind.

He noticed.

But pretended not too.

"So this is it,"

He looked startled, as if she wasn't meant to say that. He waited for her to yell, but later he would realise how out of character that would be for her. Silence was her weapon of choice, not words. She was backing away yet again, with her arms crossed over her chest.

Tristan copied her early move and ran a hand through his damp hair, trying to hide the fact his hand was shivering without his permission. This was too much, him, her, them . . . He didn't do this, this relationship stuff. It was better to get out early than to wait for dénouement instead of this ending.

"So this is it," Tristan repeated.

His words loomed in the air, heavy, weighing them both down.

So, this is it . . .

So, this is it?

Yes, so that was it.

* * *

**Next Chapter: Promrose path.**

* * *

"Dean got married seven months ago." 

"To Lindsey right," Paris stated not questioned, her tone steady, almost tranquil, not forcing or foreseeing.

But she felt it, felt where it was leading.

"Have you talked to him lately?"

* * *

Sorry about the wait; uni and real life got in the way. I hope you enjoyed the chapter despite the breakup of Rory and Tristan. Also, I'd like to thank all the readers and reviewers for sticking to my fic even with the delays. 

Thanks,

From Professional Scatterbrain.


	20. Primrose path

* * *

Title: Nine Months. 

Author: Professional Scatterbrain

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

Rating: R

Couple: R/T

Summary: Tristan returns to Chilton, and to the game, but Rory's not playing.

Note: Tristan left later on in Rory's first year at Chilton, so therefore the whole nine-month thing works (a little hint, it's a metaphor for the fic). After Tristan left Rory formed a fledgling friendship with Paris, Louise and Madeline, and by the time senior years rolls up there good friends, well, most of the time at least. Everything that happened with Dean and Jess happened except it happened all before senior year. At the end of the year before Rory told Jess she loved him, and he left suddenly straight afterwards.

I made Chilton darker, because I found the whole picture perfect school depicted on the show nice, yet unrealistic. I tried to model it around my High School, showing the competitiveness, the cruelty, and self delusion within my environment. I go to a girls' school though, so the guy thing still might take me a while to work out. Suggestions would be nice as this is my first GG fic.

**N.B.** : I changed the time when Dean and Lindsey got married. In this fic, they got married during their (and therefore Rory's) last year of high school. This is isn't so much important, as something you need to keep in mind or else all the timing won't make sense to you. Keep it in mind.

* * *

**Chp 20: Primrose path.**

**

* * *

**

They returned to their roles.

Each, with varying success.

She was the Mary, the mini me, the side kick, the saving grace. She was sweet and naïve. The good girl that didn't know about that the younger set did, and would be shocked if she did. Meanwhile he was the ruler of the bright young things. He was the brightest of the young things. He smiled like a wolf and played the game better than anyone else ever could. He held all the cards and won every time.

But still, despite how expertly they rejoined the facade, they still couldn't look at each other.

Rory wouldn't speak. The words she did articulate meant nothing in the long run. She would say, smile, and act the way she should though, plaiting her hair back in French braids with blue ribbons at the ends. Paris would watch her, circling her like a guard dog on watch for possible threats. Snapping her teeth at anyone that dared approaching the doll like girl that had seamlessly become the blondes best friend.

Louise couldn't be around the brunette by herself.

Rory had been the light at the end of the tunnel almost.

But now she was only painful false hope.

So, Louise kept her distance, idly chatting about school and fashion; topics that were meaningless. Rory always expected more from Louise, something that the blonde hadn't ever encountered apart from Paris's snappy, sharp comments. Rory was . . . Rory was something that hurt to look at for the moment, so Louise kept her friend at arms length, not allowing her to comment on the game that was now back in play.

Giles.

The dark featured boy. New money, and new manors. She watched him, with disinterest, and red lip sticked boredom. But never while Rory was near by. No, that wouldn't do. Rory could always see the distinction between true disinterest, and the faux variety that Louise practised like an art around the chosen object of affection.

So Rory was kept at arms length.

Neither party said a thing about that fact though.

Paris came to Stars Hollow about a month after the break up. Along with her came Madeline and her neat raven curls. She sat cramped in the backseat, a comeuppance for the forced invitation Rory had given. Madeline wasn't part of this world, with her inquisitive, deceptively simple eyes, she was another bright young thing that would be scorned and satirised in her departure. She acted her role to perfection. She had always been better at it than anyone noticed. Not that many people cared to notice. With long legs she followed the other two accepted girls as they left the parked car and enter Luke's. Her movements harmonious and calm, as if merely bemused by the looks she was receiving.

Rory would crack sometime.

She wasn't a small town girl no matter how often she was told otherwise.

No one cared to notice that either. Without awkwardness Madeline waited, watching, observing the other brunette, not minding the discomfort of her position as an outsider. Paris smiled tightly at Lane's mother, stopping to chat outside as Rory and Madeline entered. Lorelei wasn't in attendance, and Madeline noted the guilty relief that slivered into Rory's cobalt eyes; a fleeting sign of emotions she had been encaging for the safety of herself and others.

"I don't drink coffee," Madeline found herself stating, more in order to break the silence between her and the other girl, than out of any need to inform Rory of this particular distaste. "I plan on growing the same hight as Elle MacPherson"

Someone snorted behind her. Rory turned slightly, allowing Madeline to do the same. A brown eyed boy stared at her, a snarl of the lip, and a cocky flash of teeth mocked her. Arms crossed over his chest, he was another poster boy for whatever tragedy he believed he, and he alone had suffered through. Glancing meaningfully at Rory, Madeline watched him communicate his distaste for her, the girl who in his opinion lacked enough brain cells to spark a fire upstairs.

"Sparkling insight. Witty use of appropriation too. How long did it take you to switch their names?" he quipped, his body angling towards Rory's

He wanted her.

He might get her.

But he forgot one vital thing.

The girl he charmed the first time around had changed, and was no longer the same.

Rory reached for her coffee; her movements unbalanced, as if trying to decide what to do, who to choose between, what the consequences would be. Indecisive to the end. Might be her end if she wasn't lucky. Or if she was lucky. What a pity it was. Oh those indecisive cobalt blue eyes of hers, what a mess.

She wasn't a good girl either.

"Sorry?" Madeline stated her tone innocent and tasting like bubble gum in her mouth.

Deceptive girl.

"I see Chilton is a place not only of intellect but blinding wit," he retorted dryly, as if expecting a thanks.

Overconfident boy.

Madeline wanted to find out what made him tick, or more specifically, what made Rory tick and chime when she was around him. He was the famous boy that had rejected her, the one that took months to get over, the boy that until now was just a name and a vague description only abstracted from a night of drinking in the summer holidays that preceded the start of the year. Madeline traced his form and figure with her eyes. At the end of her inspection she found herself leading him on; but as she did, she discovered Rory wasn't objecting to her treatment of the underestimating brown eyed wonder.

"I don't understand," the raven haired girl replied, her eyes wide, confused, clueless, but Rory saw the flicker of something.

Something deeper.

Something dangerous.

Something sadistic.

"I guess because my shoe size is apparently bigger than my I.Q I wouldn't, would I?" she added, finishing the conversation with a touch of brutality that boys like Jess understood, but didn't respect.

The dinner had stilled, with conversations hanging in air as they watched the ditz go down to the snapping teeth that usually were reserved for the hand that feed him. Her tone was no longer bubble gum sweet and unassuming, and with flashing, flaunting eyes, she watching him, counting her win. Adding it to the pile. He didn't laugh, but Rory did, snorting, then stopping herself, realising her mistake.

The bell over the door sounded.

Paris entered the dinner, her face flushed and lined with exertion, like a tactician after a test of there skills. Shrill and unwanted, it forced Jess to back away, fetching the bottle of pink lemonade Madeline ordered sadistically, as if to nail the point home. With surgical eyes, she didn't need to fully evaluate the scene before her to know that she had walked in on something. Meanwhile Madeline had her attention happily focused on the receding figure of the boy with the wounded pride.

Paris pulled Rory outside.

"What's going on?"

The repetition of the very words she had whispered to Tristan slapped Rory in the face as she ambled towards the gazebo in the town centre. She considered flashing her teeth; smiling, shaking off Paris's comment like it meant nothing, but couldn't go through with it. Paris would see through the thinly veiled deception, just like she always saw through the tactics and diversions Rory specialised in.

"I didn't see it coming," Rory mumbled, her eyes fixed on Madeline as she mocked and flayed Jess; for a boy that boasted of knowing better he seemed to still be falling in her carefully laid traps. "He cheated on me you know. With Summer. Fucked her for some sort of revenge."

Paris nodded. Face blank not showing even a curling wisps of emotion as she tried to get everything Rory admitted into some sort of order or flow chart of information. But it was the way Rory stated it, Tristan screwing Summer, that got to Paris. Rory stated it as though Tristan cheating on her had hurt, but it wasn't what she came back to in her mind each night when she was alone. Oh those cobalt blue eyes. What a mess. What a terrible mess. It was all about trust, and how it had been broken.

"Do you think I should have tried to work it out with him?" she asked, pleading for an answer.

Which one she wanted, she still wasn't sure.

Which one she needed, she still wasn't sure.

"I always wondered what it would take to get married," Rory stated suddenly, snapping the conversation onto a different, yet link track of thought.

Maybe she didn't want an answer.

Or maybe she just didn't want the answer Paris would give.

Paris struggled to keep up, not wanting to speak, or guide Rory in any way in fear the other girl would close off once again. Wrapping her arms around her form, as if branches were scrapping on the window panes of her bedroom window, Rory turned to face Paris, then looked away, as if seeing the questions that other girl wanted to ask.

"Dean got married seven months ago."

"To Lindsey right," Paris stated not questioned, her tone steady, almost tranquil, not forcing or foreseeing.

But she felt it, felt where it was leading.

"Have you talked to him lately?"

The context of 'lately' was obvious. Had she spoken to the brown eyed boy since she departed from the blonde boy? Tristan and Dean had never been people that could be friends, even without the connection of the cobalt eyed girl. Dean was protective; he was idealistic, full of sugar and spice. Tristan didn't fulfil any of these criteria's. Jaded, knowing, made up of uncountable myriads of sides and properties, he treated Rory not as something to be protected, or kept. Simply, he treated her how she should be treated, and she reappropriated the gesture. But, he had failed like Dean had failed.

Just like Rory could fail.

"I've seen him around," she replied, almost illusively, yet somehow she was honest, leaving Paris to believe Rory had still had to admit the meaning of Dean and his reappearance in her life to herself.

"Be careful with him," Paris warned, suddenly afraid.

"With which one?" Rory retorted.

Paris was left unbalanced by her friends reply. But before she had the chance to question it and Rory, Madeline reached the two. Bounding and bouncing across the greens, she was light and darling, with huge eyes sweeping the streets, picking on people only long enough for them to feel euphoric, them moving on. Dropping them likes tones into a river. Rory, like Paris watched the approaching girl, trying to calculated the reasons and rhymes she inhabited and exhibited.

But, Madeline couldn't be explained.

She could never be explained, because, she too was another version of the same girl.

A version Rory and Paris denied being related to.

But as her eyes gleamed decadently, infatuating, it was impossible to pretend she, like them, were just the sum of what people saw.

* * *

Such pretty slate eyes. 

Tristan traced his hands over the marble floor. The shifting smoke lines of black and white under his fingertips fell into and out of each other. The stone was ice against his touch, and loud music pounded through the room. It was late, and he didn't particular want, or feel the need for sleep. Slumbering nights seemed wastefully and he itched for activity.

His face was sharp, high cheek bones and shattering slate eyes made him into his family name.

His older brother was leaving in a few days. Idly he entertained the idea of Daniel's wife; her limbs and her skin. However it didn't last long. Wasn't even worth entertaining. He's friends; in particular his cousin Matt had spent the last few days celebrating his 'win'. Even Giles and his new money had joined in on the fun. He didn't really turn up to swim practice anymore. The season was over and apart from his wins the team had come up short. The parents committee was displeased and Tristan doubted Coach Andrews would be returning for the following school year.

What fun had been had.

It was a slippery slope.

Downwards he slipped, back into disinterest and inattentiveness.

People bored him, but they were easy to charm. Very easy. He was good at making them like him. He was good at making them do things he wanted. His friends laughed a lot not, and made crude jokes. That was easy too. There was no danger or risk in joining in. Sometimes he seduced girls; in the weeks that had passed since he and Rory had broken up he seduced a couple of girls. But that had always been easy.

He didn't feel guilt.

He didn't look at her.

But he didn't think about that. He didn't really think at all. He was pretty much gone anyway. The school year was almost over and he was already signed up to the family university. His name in black ink and his father's check almost ready to be sent over to pay for the tuition fees. His grandfather had been pleased. Matt was looking to move up the rankings, and he hadn't kept his mouth shut for long. Not that it mattered. He didn't even think about it. There wasn't anything to think about. Their never had been. His mind was focused on other matters. The family name had to be upheld, and the youngest son, now reformed, now fixed was the one being asked to take part in doing it.

A leggy red head smiled at Tristan from across the room as she made her way over to him. He recognised her face. New money. Or new in this crowd. The girl in question was pretty enough. She was petite and he handed her a glass of pink champagne as they reached each other. She had the body of a ballet dancer, slim yet defined. They had known each other for a couple of years, and it was easy to find a couple of topics that they could once again go over. They'd done this more than once before. But he knew her type. She was the sort of girl that hadn't spent a week without a boyfriend by her side since she was fourteen.

They were at another nameless Charity Event. This time it wasn't held by the D.A.R darlings, but their family. They'd raised a couple of million dollars easily, but it was rude for a boy like Tristan to keep count of exactly how much. The DuGrey family had always prided itself on being discrete. Tristan supposed that was one of the many lessons 'boarding school' had been meant to teach him. With glittering eyes and a wolf like smile, Tristan was everything bright young things were meant to be, but better.

"Tristan, can I steal you for a second?" she purred, her hands bridging the space between the two bodies.

"Longer if you want." He replied distractedly, all he concentrate on was how cold she left him.

Soon his hands were under her shear dress, tracing the hollows and curves form.

Within an hour it was over and he was back amongst the masses of people his Grandfather considered important enough to waste time with. He raked his hair back, and smirked as he spotted the man himself. Their matching slate eyes meet and Tristan raised his glass in salute. He was in control now, the power was going to change hands eventually; he could feel it beginning to happen. Janlan's influence was waning; blood would soon be in the water. Janlan had had his era, his golden days were on the verge of ending and when they did Tristan intended on being there. Sliding up to the older man, Tristan slipped at his glass of wine.

"Did you miss me?" Tristan quipped sarcastically in Russian to Janlan, while his mouth smiling beautifully at the pretty women that send him lingering glazes.

"Learn your place," Janlan retorted in Russian.

Tristan just smiled at his Grandfathers comment and for a second Janlan could have been forgiven for thinking the young man didn't know what had been said. Tristan only spoke Russian within the circles of his family, and in the pitiful excuses for languages lessons he took at school. But Tristan was smarter than he appeared to be, long ago learning the value of playing the dark horse role until he needed to show his true colours.

Just because you were smart didn't mean you couldn't play stupid.

An act Janlan was now certain that his grandson excelled at.

"I know my place." He smiled, his eyes wide and in that second he looked like the facade of innocence's he had learn from the one girl that he had never ruined, the one that had almost ruined him, but then it was spoiled as his smile turned into a smirk, "Do you?"

As Tristan's eyes glittered and danced dangerously, Janlan questioned if the boy ever played anything other than a wolf in sheep clothing. He was a dangerous thing. The two men with their matching slate eyes were far too alike for their own good. It was such a slippery slope wasn't it. A game of morality by numbers, and neither was certain who was winning. It seemed as though the odds were shifting though.

The gears of change were turning.

And Tristan was the one turning them.

* * *

**Next Chapter: Dirt. **

* * *

"Why do I feel so dirty?" Rory asked blindly, "How do I make it stop?"

Louise looked away, the other girl's words hitting too close to home, "You don't,"

* * *

Another thank you to Belle for helping me with this fic and with everything else.

R&R.

* * *


	21. Dirt

* * *

Title: Nine Months. 

Author: Professional Scatterbrain

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

Rating: R

Couple: R/T

Summary: Tristan returns to Chilton, and to the game, but Rory's not playing.

Note: Tristan left later on in Rory's first year at Chilton, so therefore the whole nine-month thing works (a little hint, it's a metaphor for the fic). After Tristan left Rory formed a fledgling friendship with Paris, Louise and Madeline, and by the time senior years rolls up there good friends, well, most of the time at least. Everything that happened with Dean and Jess happened except it happened all before senior year. At the end of the year before Rory told Jess she loved him, and he left suddenly straight afterwards.

I made Chilton darker, because I found the whole picture perfect school depicted on the show nice, yet unrealistic. I tried to model it around my High School, showing the competitiveness, the cruelty, and self delusion within my environment. I go to a girls' school though, so the guy thing still might take me a while to work out. Suggestions would be nice as this is my first GG fic.

* * *

**Chp 21: Dirt. **

* * *

God, the dirt just wouldn't come off. 

Her skin was red, and painfully raw, with her throat yet again burning, and tasting like acid from vomit. His words played over and over in her head, taunting her. She couldn't get his scent off her skin. Or his touch out of her mind.

_"I love you . . ." _

_"I only want you . . ." _

_"You have no idea how long I waited for this . . ." _

She felt bile rising again, and grabbed the side of the toilet, trying to steady her shaking body. Colours danced before her eyes, and as her stomach settled, she let go of the cool porcelain, and slumped against the wall.

"Rory! Let me in!" Lorelei yelled, her voice laced with anger and worry.

The sound of her mothers' fist against the door created yet another rhythm she matched as she stumbled toward the mirror. Knotted, sweat matted hair surrounded her pale, pasty face. Her face, in the reflected image, was what cut her off from the sounds of her mothers' cries, and the frantic pattern of her firsts hitting the locked wooden door.

There was nothing left defining her.

No lines to separate her from the surrounding air that cushioned her.

She was nothing . . . unobtrusive, unnoticeable . . . forgotten.

Who was this girl? Cobalt eyes stared back at her, offering no answer. She was lost, and she was dissipating. Hands groped her body only hours ago made soundless tears track down her cheeks. She was weak. She felt so spoiled and dirty, and it wouldn't come off, it couldn't be reversed like any other stain.

Stupid girl.

Stupid, stupid girl.

Did she think it would be that easy?

Did she think one brown eye boy could make up for the blue eyed one she wanted?

Did she think his touch could make her forget?

Her nails left train tracks along her arms, marking her in the way the brown eyed boy hadn't dared physically, but unknowingly inflicted mentally. Stupid girl. At seventeen like the song she had learnt the truth, but it seemed it only took one year for her to forget.

"Rory, let me in now!" Lorelei called, pleading now as she asked, "Did you think he would love you?"

No.

She didn't once think that.

But he had thought she could love him.

That was what made his touch impossible to scrub off.

"Did you think he could change it all for you? Make it all perfect?" Lorelei screamed now, the anger in her voice palpable.

Holding back another sob, Rory climbed out of the tiny bathroom window, skinning her hands, and grazing her knees as she landed without any grace or much needed balance. Her mother's voice drifted out of the house, curling around her daughter, like the vines of a creeper unwilling to let her go. Pulling car keys out of her pocket, Rory hurried to leave without being notice.

But it was Stars Hollow, and Rory was always noticed.

A princess, abet a fallen one, could never disappear, even if the girl behind the image did.

Reaching the house of another bright young thing, Rory managed to reconstruct the image people expected to see before she entered. With untangled hair, and a powdered face she almost looked normal. But she needn't have bothered. By this time, the alcohol supplies were lowering, and the smoke above her head was thickening rapidly. Blank eyed teenagers danced, and groped each other, spinning until they fell into a heap. Jezebel girls giggled, and violent eyed boys advanced on them.

Another game.

But she was too tired to play . . .

Was that another lie to add to the ever increasing pile?

Perhaps.

Seeing the flash of gold, although not leading Rory to the wanted girl, took her to Louise, in all her glory. Arms around two guys, their lips marring her lightly gilded skin maked her moan softy and sweetly, almost in a practiced manor that completed her sex kitten image. She looked bored and disinterested, like so many of her counterparts, but she managed to give Rory a questioning look as the brunette entered her vision.

"You look like shit Ror," she muttered bluntly, her voice slightly breathless as she pulled away from the guys she had been entwined in.

"I need to speak to Paris," Rory ordered, her voice dangerous, leaving her on edge, and Louise untouched in her haze.

"10:35," Louise stated, "Your girl's gone,"

"Rory, what's wrong?" came the soft, unnaturally worried tone of Madeline, as she left the side of some white toothed guy with the perfect bank balance to join the two girls, sensing a disturbance in the normally meticulously composed Rory and the controlled actress Louise.

Raven hair and soft eyes examined Rory, picking up the flaws in her mask, silently signalling to Louise the imitate breakdown. The two friends from kindergarten were good at seeing breakdowns. They blurred those lines long ago themselves, but it didn't mean they didn't watch others fall.

Rory was falling.

"I need to see Paris," Rory once again ordered, her voice catching the attention of the glazed eyed bright young things that called her names behind her back.

It wasn't Louise's or Madeline's house, but it was easy to take her to an unused room. Both the girls knew the majority of the layouts in each house a party like this was held, but tonight, they fumbled, unsure and unknowing how to handle this Rory. This Rory was unstable, and neither of the friends supporting her tense body knew what they should do.

Another bathroom.

The chilly tiles left Rory's skin coolish, but she was still feverish. Closing her eyes, she blocked out the tense faces, and tried not to flinch as smooth soft fingers measured her temperature. The sound of Madeline calling Paris was been blocked out, leaving Rory floating in the intense scent of Louise's perfume that attempted to cover the scent of the brown eyed boy left branded on Rory's limbs.

"What happened?" Louise asked softly, sweetly, her words brushing against Rory's ear like rose petals.

Louise wasn't sweet or soft, but her presence comforted Rory more than she initially would have allowed. Soon Madeline joined Rory's other side, her suddenly clammy hand taking Rory's, with Madeline's anxiety tangible as she tried to offer comfort to her friend. The two girls' by Rory's side weren't perfect, and they probably wouldn't be her friends in the years that would eventually come, but they were there here and now, holding her hand not fucking some guy downstairs.

"Did . . . something bad happen?" Madeline asked, her tone so utterly fragile and trusting, Rory felt even Louise pause.

"You've been a friend to both of us Ror," Louise added squeezing Rory's hand gently, "Let us be a friend to you,"

They weren't just what they seemed. They too had faces with no definition between them and the air around them. Each day they leaned closer and closer to the mirror, trying to find the details that had been lost over time. They were all versions of the same proto type. The slut, the poor girl, the ditz, and the soon to arrive frigid obsessive compulsive.

"I did something stupid," Rory muttered.

Brown eyes.

_'I've never loved anyone like I've loved you,' _

Brushing Rory's tangled hair, Louise waited for her friend to continue. Madeline gave Louise a knowing look, almost sensing what had happened. They were all alike. All holding the same potential, all holding the same power.

Girls like them could be dangerous.

Never take your eyes off girls like them.

"I fucked him." Rory muttered, tears streaking down her face.

"Who?" Madeline asked, hoping for an answer she knew she wouldn't receive.

Not the slate eyed boy Rory wanted and needed obviously.

Probably one of the boys waiting in the wings.

Another understudy.

"Why do I feel so dirty?" Rory asked blindly, "How do I make it stop?"

Louise looked away, the other girl's words hitting too close to home, "You don't,"

No, some things stuck to you, like markings of various battles and wars. Choices were made, and events that resulted could never be undone. It was easier when you didn't care, when it was just meaningless. But, every once in a while, you couldn't be blank and dissipate from what had been decided. As Rory pleaded to her, with her wide cobalt eyes, Louise couldn't even meet her gaze. Rory was . . . she wasn't better, but she was . . . she didn't . . . but apparently she did. But, that wasn't what was meant to happen with Rory. It was like Rory was finally showing symptoms after being exposed to Louise's way of life, as if Rory was now contaminated.

You couldn't make it 'stop', Louise knew first hand, so did Madeline. But Madeline accepted it; to her it was nothing, just a shell of who she was. Branches on the windowpane; annoying, but you could block it out. It was easy to block things out like that. In the darkness of the night, faces, bodies changed, and it was simple to let them close, to allow those perfect boys with there perfect smiles to do what they want. But, in the end, it could never 'stop' and even those perfect boys were hurt . . . but you didn't think about that. You didn't think about consciences . . . it was easy to disintegrate, to become someone else.

It was easier being someone else.

Easier being someone that played the game than someone that lived with the sins they had committed.

Madeline stiffened, turning to Louise's cracking mask she stated, " Paris should be here, why don't you go wait for her?"

Louise nodded, leaving the circle of warmth the three girls created. It was so utterly quiet in the spacious bathroom, with the hobbled sound from downstairs slowly making its way to where the two girls sat, it felt almost safe. Madeline, unlike the other two girls that were yet to come to Rory's side, was quiet, and didn't try to say anything. She was practised from nights looking after Louise, but she was still a teenager once again looking after a girl that thought asking for help was only for the weak.

"He said he loved me, he said all these things, and . . . I don't feel anything . . . he was making love to me while I was fucking him," Rory finally managed to vomit out, her words leaving her vulnerable and too young for her age.

"It's not your fault," Madeline whispered, "It was a mistake, just a mistake,"

Bloodshot eyes glanced at the other girl telling Madeline otherwise, "I wanted to hurt him, I wanted to hurt him like he'd hurt me. I didn't even know I felt like this . . . I just wanted to forget . . . I thought I was doing well, I thought I was getting better,"

'Getting better' . . . Rory's words struck a cord in Madeline.

Tristan was more than a crush or boyfriend. He, was . . . he had made part of her identity, he had helped her to become more than a 'Mary,' yet at the same time, in their relationship and even before, she had helped him become more than a detached poor little rich boy. But, they had both only ended up pushing each other away, as if there relationship had only prepared them for life after it where they needed to be more than they once were. But she still wanted him, and Madeline somehow knew Tristan was more than she could admit him being.

Love . . .

Love?

Maybe . . . Although Rory had never said anything of the sort to him, or about him it was clear it was more than a three month love deal that she had with Dean, or the on off love she created for Jess. Vaguely Madeline wondered which brown eyed boy Rory leered into her bed. Was it the boy that got married yet still looked at her in a way that a man should only look at his wife? Or was it the boy that needed Rory to make everything in his messed up world form some sort of sense? Either, either . . . did it really matter?

It didn't matter which brown eyed boy that was left crying her name as he finished, she still would have only seen those slate grey eyes when she closed her eyes. She still would have cried another boys name soundlessly. It didn't matter what words he whispered into Rory's ear as he undressed her, it still would have been another boy she was imagining.

"Girls like us don't get over boys like Tristan easily," Madeline responded. "We'll work this out,"

_'We can work out this time,' _

"No, I don't think it can be . . ." Rory whispered quietly, in that breakable voice of hers that Madeline rarely heard. "Do you remember at the start of the year, when Giles and James . . ."

She still couldn't say the words.

"Yeah, I remember," Madeline answered, filling in the space Rory had left for words that were still too hard to fill, "I remember how brave you were,"

Brave?

That was a strange way to describe her reaction.

Brave held all the wrong connotations and meanings.

She wasn't brave, she was just a girl.

A girl playing a game she should have outgrown.

In her room lay the unopened acceptance letters from seven universities. One from Harvard, one from Yale . . . names of other polished places followed like sand out of an hour glass. Princeton, Stanford, UCLA, even a couple overseas, even the one Tristan was set to enter in a few months time. She still hadn't cracked the sealed paper to see her fate, once again putting off the decision she would need to make. It would be conscious now. It wouldn't be another Chilton verses Stars Hollow High debate, this would be a defining choice she could vaguely understanding in her mind, not yet able to acknowledge all the other defining choices she had played the part of the push button pony.

"It seems so long ago." Rory muttered, her eyes swollen and puffy, "I was so mad, and out of control. I don't even remember what was going through me head when I hit him."

"You broke his nose," Madeline replied with a tiny quivering smile. "He told everyone he broke it in a game of football,"

"It seems I'm good at hurting people,"

It was easy to hurt people, it was so simple. It was easiest to hurt people that you knew, that loved you. It was simple; it was so basic and amateur. Rory was good at it. Years of practice, and it seemed this year she got it down pat. All it took to really hurt people was to get close, to get close, to get close . . .

"Ror . . ." Madeline gently reprimanded, "It took two, he obviously wanted it, and he obviously didn't see that you didn't. He saw what he wanted, because he wanted you. It's not all your fault."

"Lorelei knows." Rory gulped out, shaking at the memories that come flashing back to mind of her mother pounding at the door yelling to be let in, screaming at her daughter for what she did. "She guessed. A pretty easy guess with a guy leaving the house matched with a messed up bed and . . ."

"A messed up daughter,"

"I went into the bathroom. I locked myself in. I said I was having a shower, and he left, and then Lorelei . . . she was screaming and yelling and asking me what the hell I was thinking,"

"Did she know about Tristan and you, you know . . ."Madeline couldn't say the words.

Rory and Tristan didn't fuck, they didn't do things mindlessly. They brought out the best and worst in each other, but they never did anything mindlessly like Rory had done with the brown eyed boy and like what Tristan had done with Summer. Mindlessly was something that never applied to them. They pushed each others buttons and looked after each other the best they could, but they never treated each other with that disregard.

_'We can be together again,' _

Disregard . . . it seemed that although she never treated the slate eyed boy that way, that concern didn't carry over to his brown eyed counter part.

"No, so she thinks it was my first . . . stupid huh, she lived in denial until I was stupid enough not to stop her from seeing,"

"She guessed though, so once she calms down it won't be such a huge deal?" Madeline stated hesitantly, not used to Lorelei's tendencies to the extent Paris was, and blanched at the sound of Rory's hauntingly hollow short laugh.

Tightening her grip on the shaking girl's hand, Madeline chanced a glance out the cracked door, praying to see the two other girls bounding up the stairs. Paris would arrive in moments, but Madeline somehow knew that wasn't going to be as much comfort as Rory had expected. Paris had sharp wit with no tact, and was never confident with people breaking, but Madeline was, she had lived through five of her mother's divorces, and myriads of Louise's broken trysts. Madeline was good at being there, good at waiting until she was needed, and as she brushed some of Rory's hair away from her crown, she tried to order her thoughts. Paris had grown up in a household were the number of times she cried a year could be counted on one hand. Paris was good at reading people, but she lacked the talent to reach them. Madeline wasn't unseeing, but she missed things . . . here with Rory, the raven haired girl knew she should have seen the breakdown coming, knew that something could have been done to prevent the fallout . . . but it was too late now.

Louise knocked slightly, pushing the door open, with the impatient Paris snapping at her heels to be let in. A mess of half removed make up and mismatched clothes, Paris looked anything but well presented. Eventually, tired of waiting at the door frame, she pushed past Louise, who stood, almost frozen under the arch of the door, as if distancing herself from the girl that had unknowingly opened too many locks that held hidden memories she wanted to forget.

Taking charge in the only way she knew how, Paris, with the help of Madeline, pulled the depleted Rory to her feet, supporting the waif like figure as Rory retreated back to autopilot. Paris, in a rare moment of weakness, glanced at Louise, who until that moment was frozen in time, still looking at the space Rory had vacated.

"Lets go," fleeting looks raced from the unseeing Rory to Louise, as Paris tried to keep hold of the situation that was beyond her, "Your parents aren't home tonight Louise?"

Louise couldn't speak; her golden hair covered her face as she stared at Rory. Her body allowed itself to go into shock as the other girls carried the limp form between them. Vaguely, Louise wonder if this was anything like the uncountable times she had been transported home in the arms of her friends. She wondered, staring transfixed at Rory's face, if this was what she looked like, if this was how strangling it felt to watch one of her best friends self destruct and be unable to stop the self inflected damage.

Madeline reached out a hand, brushing against Louise bare arm, "We can go to my house. My mother and husband number six won't be around."

Paris nodded, winching as Rory's head lulled onto her shoulder, the exhaustion catching up to the shattered image of a girl. Her hand crossed over Madeline's as they held Rory up, almost like puppeteers holding the stings of a glittery puppet. Someone had to call Lorelei, but Paris didn't dare voice the reminder. Louise, in broken, unfinished sentences informed Paris of this fact, but it wasn't truly understood until she saw her best friend slumped next to Madeline, like a china doll that a child had forgotten. Rory wasn't perfect, nor was she anything else but simply a girl . . . but Paris, and so many other people forgot that, just like they forgot Paris, Madeline, and even Louise, were just girls, little more than the children they had been only years before.

They still were playing a game of make believe, playing parts altered from the original role as princess.

Some roles altered more than others, but roles that were altered none the less.

The party blazed on downstairs, and few people noticed the four girls exiting. Louise pause, allowing the three to overtake her as she spotted Giles. His dark eyes took her in, as if folding and unfolding her, seeing more than she liked, and less then he wanted. Gliding towards her, she felt trapped between two magnets, unable to breath, to speak, or to move.

"Louise!"

A snap of her name shattered her displacement.

Paris turned, glancing at the other blonde over her shoulder.

Giles quirked a smirk that left her lost in his trance once again. He charmed and flirted his way closer, and she was hypnotised by him, a little more that lost in the power he had over her. He wasn't like the others, and he didn't see her like the others either.

"Come on,"

It was Madeline this time.

Her voice almost lost in the roaring music.

But it held just as much power as the other blonde that had spoken before.

Glancing at the approaching boy, Louise allowed his eyes to burn into her mind. He was gorgeous and dangerous. But he couldn't love her. One day maybe, but not tonight. Tonight he was just another beautiful boy with gleaming eyes of another predator. Another pretty young thing that would dissipate another fraction of the girl that made daisy chains in the summertime.

He protected her, that was a given, but he only did so when it didn't put his marker in their demented game into any risk. They were old enough to know better, and watching Giles near, she realised she was no longer too young to not care. It was harder than she thought; to turn her back, knowing that to him it was nothing more than a casual brush off. To her, it was an ending to what could have been.

But she couldn't have been with him, not now, not like this.

He wasn't ready for anything else than playing sadistic games.

She wasn't ready to wait for him to finish the round.

There was a game they used to play when they were younger. Chance. Rolling a dice, gathering numbers until the unwanted one was called and you lost it all. Some people used to stop playing at a point, knowing they'd risked as much at they felt comfortable. She never used to stop. She either won grandly, or lost spectacularly. She never saw the point in ceasing playing while she was ahead. She just kept going, but here, on that night, she couldn't keep playing, keep hoping for him to once again protect her.

She wanted him to save her.

To make her a girl that was worth more than a quick one in the rose garden.

Although a slate eyed boy had been made more than a boy that fucked girls in rose gardens by one blue eyed girl, Louise knew Giles couldn't help her like she wanted him too. He couldn't protect her, he couldn't save her, because, at that moment he couldn't even save himself. He couldn't be anything other than an occasional fair weather protector. She could take a chance on him like she took in the games of her youth, but as he moved closer, like a lion closing in on a gazelle, she knew he wasn't worth the chance.

Not yet, maybe not ever.

He couldn't save her.

She was the only person that could do that.

* * *

**Next Chp: Stupid. **

* * *

It was getting harder and harder to be what was expected of her. 

Harder to smile and sing and dance at command.

Stupid girl.

Stupid, stupid girl.

* * *

I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I just wanted to apologise for taking so long to get back to this fic. After a brief flirtation with the WWE (my favourite violent soap opera), someone, who will remain nameless (since I don't wish to give her anymore publicity) decided to plagiarise my writing. Thus I have decided to take a break from writing WWE fics and come back to the Trory fold where to the best of my knowledge my work was never plagiarised nor did I encounter any writers (I use the term loosely) who took such pleasure in disrespecting me.

* * *


End file.
